


The Bullet

by Velyrhorde (Ryan_Writes)



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-03 07:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 29,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14564361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryan_Writes/pseuds/Velyrhorde
Summary: Hannibal Heyes is dry-gulched on the way back from a poker game. He and The Kid stumble through a time portal and wind up in the modern era -- just in time to step onto a busy street.Warning: This work contains graphic depictions of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you.





	1. The Shot

Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were having a run of good luck for a change. Heyes’ boots struck up a lively tattoo as he strode along the sidewalk. The Kid, always quiet as a cat, strolled behind as he window-shopped. The setting sun sparkled from the plate glass of the shops.

The citizens of Blue River shared a certain optimism when it came to their poker games — they tended to draw to inside straights and stand pat on a pair. The weight of his winnings tugged at the right side of his suit jacket, and Heyes smiled as he turned the corner to return to the hotel.

Something else tugged then, something that had him stumbling over the boards of the sidewalk, had him down on one knee. He coughed — and felt an icy terror as blood sprayed. 

“Heyes!” The Kid lunged forward, his arm going around Heyes’ waist for support. The derringer was already in his hand. It fired twice. Jed hauled Heyes forward. “He may have had friends. We’ve got to get back to the hotel.”

Heyes managed to stand, wobbled forward two steps. Two steps. It was all he could manage. He put a hand to his chest, feeling the spreading wetness. He couldn’t catch his breath. Another wave of weakness had him toppling forward. The Kid’s arm tightened around his waist. He could feel the Kid’s muscles tense, trying to hold him upright.

The air before him rippled, sparked rainbows in the corner of his vision. Dizziness struck, then the night changed. Bright lights beamed from street lamps where before there had been no lamps. The wooden sidewalk was gone, replaced by some sort of stone tiles. Heyes didn’t have time to see more – The Kid hauled him forward and a blinding light suddenly flashed in his eyes.

He heard a mechanical rumble like a steam train. A screech, and the light resolved into two beams shining from a large contraption coming to a halt just before them in the street.

“Are you crazy?” The side of the contraption opened and a furious man stepped out. “You can’t just walk into the street like that! I could have killed both of you – Oh God, is that blood?”

“We need a doctor,” the Kid said. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the contraption, by the strange lights, by the odd surface of what had been an ordinary dirt road.  
Heyes’ legs refused to carry him further. He tried to breathe normally, but kept panting instead, spraying blood with every breath. The front of the Kid’s blue shirt was slowly turning red. Heyes couldn’t keep going, couldn’t stay on his feet any longer. He sank to the ground, one hand fisted in the Kid’s lapel.

***

The Kid dropped to his knees as Heyes collapsed. He pulled his partner close, cradling his head in one arm. Heyes looked up, his brown eyes wide and panic-stricken. Jed tried to staunch the blood spraying from the hole in Heyes’ chest, but as he pressed his palm against the bubbling wound, Heyes tugged at his hand.

“Can’t breathe,” he panted, trying to sit up.

The Kid pulled him to a seated position, then realized the man in the street was speaking again.

“Tell them to hurry. He’s bleeding all over the place.”

“Tell who to hurry?” Jed glanced up, noticed the man wasn’t even facing them. There was nobody else in sight. Who was he talking to? The Kid raised his voice. “Would you go for the doctor, sir?”

The man turned. One hand held a small box to his ear, about the size of a deck of cards. “I’m calling 911,” he said, seemingly to the Kid, though Jed had no idea what he was talking about.

Jed was tempted to reload the derringer and force the man to go get the doctor. That would mean he’d have to let go of Heyes, though, and he couldn’t do that. 

The panting breaths terrified him. What if Heyes stopped breathing? What if he bled to death? The Kid could hear air bubbling in and out of Heyes’ chest with every breath. Surely he should try to close the wound somehow. Whenever he moved his hand, though, Heyes pulled it away again.

“I need to stop the bleeding,” Jed told him. “Let me get my handkerchief…”

Heyes gripped his hand like a vise. His breathing became even more rapid. Blood sprayed over the Kid’s shirt front, soaked Heyes’ shirt and jacket. As the Kid tried to ease Heyes’ labored breathing, he heard an eerie wailing noise, almost like a train whistle, only it rose and fell rhythmically.

The alarming noise grew louder, as if whatever made it was coming closer. Jed wondered if he could carry Heyes to safety before whatever the hell that was arrived.  
“There’s the ambulance,” the man in the street said, waving one arm over his head.

Red and blue lights flashed over the street. The Kid stared at the contraption approaching. It looked like a small railroad car but he couldn’t see a steam engine pulling it. It had wheels – and it was damned fast. Before he could even try to pick Heyes up, the thing was upon them.

It jerked to a stop and a door opened on one end. A burly man leaped out onto the street. He was dressed in some sort of uniform. He reached back into the box and pulled out a bed on wheels. Another person climbed out of the box and Jed blushed as he realized it was a woman. Her uniform fit tightly, leaving nothing to the imagination. She even wore trousers.

The man crouched beside Heyes. “Red, get him some oxygen.”

The woman darted back to the box and returned with a tall can of some sort. “Sir, can you help get him onto the stretcher?”

Jed, trying not to stare at her figure, realized she was talking to him, that the man had rolled the bed closer. He helped lift Heyes onto the thing, which the man somehow tugged into more of a chair than a bed.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut your jacket off,” the man said. “We’ll need to try to get that bleeding under control.”

He looked at Jed then. “Were you hit, sir?”

“No, it’s his blood.”

“What’s his name?”

Jed gave their aliases, then explained they were staying at the Blue River Arms. He wrapped his own arms around himself, suddenly chilled, as he watched the big man cut away Heyes’ shirt and jacket. He bundled those to one side and turned to Jed.

“I’m going to need you to stand back now and let us work on your friend. We’ll be taking him to Blue River General if you want to follow us.”

Just as Jed was about to ask how in hell he was supposed to follow that damned box, another one pulled up. This one was smaller and only one man stepped out – a man with a shiny star on his chest.

“Deputy Burton,” the newcomer announced. “Do I need to follow you to General? I’ll need a statement from everybody.”

The woman, now kneeling beside Heyes and holding some kind of mask to his face, answered. “Yeah, we’re going to get Mr. Smith into surgery ASAP. Could you give his friend a ride to the hospital?”

The Kid explained once more that no, he hadn’t been hit by the gunman, that his name was Thaddeus Jones, that he was staying at the Blue River Arms. When the officer asked, Jed answered honestly that they didn’t know who the man was. He didn’t tell Deputy Burton his theory, that the man had been a bounty hunter who’d decided on the “dead” part of “Wanted: Dead or Alive.”

He also didn’t explain that the gunman would no longer be a problem. He didn’t want to get into that old argument on who pulled their gun first, for one thing. For another, he wasn’t certain the body lay just over on the next street any longer. Jed wasn’t sure where in hell they were, but they obviously weren’t where they’d started out. That rainbow shimmer in the air – somehow that had transported them to this place.

The Kid had no desire to give the officer a statement either, but when he tried to get back to Heyes’ side, the woman ordered him to move away again.

“Give us room to work,” she said. “We’ll do everything we can for him, but I’m afraid you’ll just be in our way.”

Jed had no option other than to stand there like a lump while they loaded Heyes into the box. The wailing noise started up again, so loud he clapped his hands to his ears. The box took off as fast as a speeding locomotive and was almost instantly out of sight, though he still heard its wail in the distance.

“C’mon, son,” the deputy said. “You can ride with me and give me your statement once we get to the hospital. No telling how long your friend’s going to be in surgery.”

“What about me?” 

Jed whirled. He’d nearly forgotten about the other man, the one who “called 911.” “I’m the one who found them.”

“Good job calling us so quickly, sir,” Deputy Burton said in a placating voice. “I don’t really need a statement from you right now, but if you want, you can come ‘round the station any time and give us one.”

The lawman opened a door in his machine and gestured for the Kid to climb inside. That was the last thing he wanted, but it was the only way to get back to Heyes. There were chairs inside the box and he sat in the one Deputy Burton pointed out. Burton seated himself on the other side behind a small wheel.

“You’re sure you weren’t hit, son?” the lawman asked. “You look a little shell-shocked to me.”

He showed Jed how to fasten a strap across his chest and waist. The Kid supposed they must be necessary to keep you from flying out of the box at the sort of speed those things were capable of. Jed pulled the door closed, fighting a sudden pang of fear at the tight, enclosed machine. Then all he could do was hang onto the straps as the deputy roared away into the night.


	2. The Doctors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry have traveled into the future. Heyes is rushed to the hospital with a gunshot wound to the chest and Curry is following in a police car.
> 
> Warning: This work includes graphic depiction of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you.

“I’m not hearing much on this side.” Samuel “Mac” McLoughlin pulled the stethoscope away from Smith’s bloody chest. “Heartbeat’s rapid and he’s coughing more. Bet you dinner that lung’s collapsed.”

“No bets.” Red, his partner, checked the patient’s pupil reactions. “He’s shocky. Fingertips are going blue. Decompression?” 

“We’re nearly there. Radio them to expect a pneumothorax.”

Red updated the hospital on the new development and pulled out a package of instant hand-warmers. They tucked those around the patient’s body and wrapped his lower extremities in a blanket. Mac dropped the head of the bed and lifted the foot, encouraging blood flow to the brain and vital organs. 

Smith was one of those patients you hated to see coming. First, he’d become combative once they’d closed the ambulance doors on his friend, refusing to let Red start an IV, struggling to sit up and climb off the stretcher. They’d finally had to restrain him.

Then, IV in place, they’d headed for the hospital with the patient struggling so hard against the restraints that he nearly upset the stretcher. Maybe they should have let the friend ride along after all.

Mac had tried getting some basic information from the man. Smith had been panting too hard for coherent speech and once they’d restrained him, what little came out of his mouth sounded like something Mac’s dear old grandmother would have washed his mouth out for. Smith’s speech was fortunately muffled by the oxygen mask, now coated with the blood spraying from his mouth and nose.

Mac was glad to see Dr. Kealy’s team waiting in the ambulance bay. He didn’t want to have to deal with Akerman’s arrogance tonight. 

“He’s your problem now Doc,” Mac said, passing over a copy of the paperwork. “You got yourself a fighter tonight.”

Between the two teams, the got the victim relocated to the ER’s gurney. Smith no longer struggled against the restraints, though Dr. Keely refastened those once they’d moved him to the hospital gurney. No sense taking a chance.

***

Dr. Sarah Kealy wanted badly to curse, but she was trying to break herself of the bad habit. She did hate a pneumothorax.

“Get that chest tube ready,” she ordered. “And I want an X-ray. See what kind of damage that bullet did.”

The bullet had entered the patient’s chest high on the right side. From there, it must have ricocheted off a rib, coming out the back at an angle. Blood bubbled from both wounds and sprayed from the man’s nose and mouth.

Mac had been right: the man was in shock. The pressure inside his lung cavity was building up, pressing on his blood vessels and cutting off the supply to his heart. If they didn’t get that chest tube in, he could die before they had the chance to operate.

“Type and match him,” she added as they moved him onto the table. “Let’s get some blood into him.”

“Want to put him out now?” the anesthesiologist asked, readying her equipment. “He’s not going to like that tube going in.”

“He wouldn’t like anything I’m planning to do,” Kealy muttered, already plotting her entry into the man’s chest. “Sir, if you can hear me, we’re going to patch you up now. You’re going to start feeling sleepy.”

She nodded to the anesthesiologist and within seconds, the patient’s labored breathing had relaxed a bit. The team went to work, strapping the patient’s hands out of the way and swabbing the site with Betadine.

“Let’s get that tube in,” Kealy said, making her incision. The chest tube would drain the blood and air from the pleural cavity, leaving room for the lung to expand once more. It took a few minutes to position properly, then she hooked it up and let it start its job.

She was dimly aware of her team performing other functions around her. Mark had stripped off the rest of the patient’s clothing before inserting a catheter. Mr. Smith was going to be bed-bound for at least a couple of days. Nancy was bagging and tagging the clothing and other belongings.

“Where’d he get this outfit?” she asked the room at large. “It’s like something out of the Victorian Era.”

“There’s a derringer in the jacket pocket,” Mark said in surprise. Maybe it was a costume party gone bad. Somebody playing cowboy with a real pistol.”

“Look at all this weird money. Is it fake?” Nancy held up a handful of bills. “It looks old-fashioned to me.”

“It is old-fashioned – if it’s real, it’s worth a lot of modern cash. I think we’ve got a cosplayer who takes his outfit a little too damn seriously.” Mark held up the remnants of the suit jacket and shirt. “Shame to toss them away though. Somebody put an awful lot of work into this.”

He and Nancy ended up bagging everything except the derringer. They’d turn that over to whichever deputy was sure to be in the waiting area. They got a blood type -- AB+ -- and started running some blood in to replace what he was losing.

The X-ray techs arrived with the portable machine. Dr. Kealy studied the results. “Looks like a couple of broken ribs,” she said aloud. “I’ll have to get in there, see what that lung looks like.”

The chest tube was the only part of the surgery that went well. The bullet had bounced off a rib and churned through the right lung before breaking through another rib on the way out. Dr. Kealy almost intubated him, just from looking at the mess, but he kept fighting, kept drawing his own breaths, even though they were shallow and rapid.

It took nearly five hours to repair the damage. By the time the last suture was tied off, Dr. Kealy was more than ready to clock out.


	3. The Nurses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyes is in the ICU, just waking from the anesthesia. He gets a lesson in proper hospital behavior from the nurse in charge.
> 
> Warning: This work contains a graphic depiction of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you.

“Don’t look now, but your bad boy’s waking up.” Etta shot a grin across the desk. “You should go wipe his brow or something.”

“Very funny.” Abby set aside her report and strode to Room 3. ICU made for a rewarding career, but she could do without all the paperwork. And sometimes, without Etta’s smart mouth.

Mr. Smith did seem to be coming out of the anesthesia, tossing his head and moaning softly. Abby checked his vitals: blood pressure still low but he’d lost a lot of blood. Oxygen saturation could be better, too, but that would improve now that he was waking up.

Abby glanced up from the monitor to meet a pair of big brown eyes. Damn Etta anyway – just because Abby had made a stray remark about the man’s good looks. But that was when he was unconscious – with those eyes open, Abby felt a flush rise to her cheeks. Even slightly unfocused from the anesthetic, the man’s eyes were magnetic.

“Kid?” He asked softly, his voice hoarse and deep.

Abby gave him her best professional smile. “If that’s your friend, he’s in the waiting room. Visiting hours aren’t for another twenty minutes.”

Smith tried to raise his left hand and discovered the restraints. A look of panic flashed across his face. He burrowed his face in the pillow with a soft grunt. For a moment, Abby thought he was overcome with emotion, but then she realized he was trying to peel away the oxygen mask.

She quickly righted it over his nose and mouth. “You have to leave that on,” she said. “You need the oxygen to breathe properly.”

This close, those eyes were mesmerizing. She had to brush the brown bangs back away from them.

“Lemme loose,” Smith said, visibly fighting for coherent speech. He wasn’t as awake as he seemed and Abby needed to remember that. She couldn’t expect him to understand what she was trying to do. The broken ribs weren’t making his breathing any easier, either. He was panting rapidly, unable to take in a good, solid breath.

“You’re at Blue River General,” she told him, patting his good shoulder. “Once the doctor sees you, I’m sure she’ll untie you.”

“I ain’t,” said Etta from the doorway. “You were on break when they brought him in. Said he fought the EMTs in the ambulance and the staff in the OR. And when they moved him to the bed, he managed to pull his IV out. Wasted a whole bag of saline.”

“Oh, Etta, I’m sure he was just in shock. Neither of us has ever been shot – something like that would make anybody go a little crazy.”

“Well, he’s coming out of it now. Better see if he wants some pain meds before you go all googly-eyed. Dr. Kealy didn’t trust him with a morphine pump.”

“Etta!”

“Bet his name ain’t Smith, neither.”

“Mr. Smith.” Abby ignored Etta’s jibes. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”

He stared blearily at her hand, inches from his nose. “Three. Lemme loose.”

“That’s right, three. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst ever, how would you rate your pain right now?”

Smith yanked hard with his left arm. “Twelve.”

“Try not to fight so much,” Abby said. “You’re just going to make it hurt worse. You might even pull your stitches loose and then where will you be?”

“For crying out loud.” Etta marched to the bedside. She leaned over until her nose was practically touching Smith’s. “Listen up, pal. You ever want out of those restraints, you’d better be an angel for me and Abby here. You just lie still and be good, and maybe the doc’ll let you up when she does her rounds.”

Smith blinked hard a couple of times, but said nothing.

Etta let out a little huff. “I reckon we understand each other. Just remember it don’t pay to antagonize the nurses that have your pain medication. You know what I mean?”

Abby hurried to get the man’s dose. Etta was a top-notch nurse but her brusque manner sometimes grated. Abby had to admit that most of the seriously ill patients responded better to a direct order, especially if they were groggy from their medication. Maybe she should try a little of Etta’s recipe and crack down on the handsome Mr. Smith.

She returned to the room and reached for the IV tube. Mr. Smith watched groggily, his brows lowered. “Hey, I’m over here. Need something for the pain.”

“I’m injecting it into your IV, Mr. Smith. Do you know what an IV is?”

Smith shook his head slightly. His brow furrowed.

Abby pointed out the tubing, showed him where the needle had been inserted into his left hand. “This way we don’t have to make a pincushion out of you when you need more medication.”

One thick eyebrow hiked upwards. “That ain’t natural.”

“Natural or not,” Etta interjected, “you’re gonna leave that alone if you know what’s good for you. Doc Kealy’s not going to be happy if she has to cart your skinny ass back into the OR.”

Abby could tell the instant the pain medicine kicked in. Some of the tension left Smith’s face and shoulders. He let out a soft sigh and settled deeper into the pillow. His brown eyes still held confusion, but he looked at Abby and a deep dimple appeared in one cheek.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, slurring the words a little bit. His shallow breathing made long pauses between the words. “My arm’s going numb. Just untie me long enough to stretch. I won’t tell nobody.”

“Did you hear a word I said?” Etta put fists on ample hips and leaned over again. “I got me an ex-husband thinks he can put on the charm and get whatever he wants. I’ll admit he ain’t as good as you, but I can spot the action a mile away.”

Smith yanked at the restraints again, winced when the movements tugged at his wound. He bent his knees, tried to pull his legs loose. Those thick eyebrows came together again. “Don’t,” he muttered

“Don’t what?” Abby asked, bending over him, trying not to blush again.

“Don’t let me die tied up like this.”

“Oh, honey, you’re not going to die.” She started to sweep those long bangs away from the eyes again.

Etta cleared her throat loudly. Abby glanced over to see her cross her arms and give Smith a good long glare.

“You ain’t gonna die if you behave yourself,” she said loudly. “Just go back to sleep and concentrate on getting well.”

“You crazy?” Smith paused to catch his breath, tugged at the restraints. “I got shot. Right where it counts. Everybody knows what happens when you’re coughing up blood.”

“Are you coughing up anything now?” Etta tugged at the elastic on the face mask, tightening the fit and ignoring Smith’s glare. “Doc Kealy spent five hours sewing that chest up. The least you can do is be grateful and behave.”

“Still hurts to breathe. Can’t just sew up the outside and pretend everything’s OK.”

“It hurts because you’ve got two broken ribs,” Abby said, trying unsuccessfully to elbow Etta out of Smith’s face. “Those are going to take awhile to heal up, but trust us – you’re going to be fine.”

“Unless you cross me,” Etta said. “Then I’m going to slap you right into next week.”


	4. The ICU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyes wakes to find himself in the ICU.
> 
> Warning: This work contains a graphic depiction of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you.

Hannibal Heyes woke slowly. Where in hell was he and why did the right side of his chest feel like his horse had taken a walk on it? Memory returned in pieces: dizziness, the Kid, a bright light shining in his face, people hoisting him around and poking needles into him, that woman who called herself a nurse.

Wait, she’d said he wasn’t going to die. Was that just bullshit for the patient? Somehow, even with her ridiculously revealing clothing, she didn’t seem to be the sort of nurse who’d lie just to make him feel better. She’d threatened to slap him silly for one thing.

He tugged hopelessly at his left wrist. This was too much like being trussed up for a sheriff. They’d tied his right wrist over his head – he supposed to keep him from rubbing up against his wound. It didn’t hurt, but he was tired of having both arms and legs immobile. 

And somebody had stolen his clothes and his boots. He could understand the wallet – he’d had nearly three hundred dollars on him and who could resist that temptation? But why take his boots? Why strip off his clothing? The shirt and suit jacket would have been soaked with blood the way it had been spraying around. They hadn’t cost that much money anyway. Why steal them?

Heyes thought about those first few moments after he’d been shot. He’d been certain his time was up – blood in his mouth and running down his chest. He’d felt air in places air ought not to be, had heard the bubbling noise from his chest as he’d tried to suck in each breath. By rights, he ought to be dead by now.

He tried moving his arms and legs, experimented with the give of the restraints. He could move enough to keep his limbs from going to sleep, but not enough to get his fingers on those buckles. If they hadn’t tied his feet as well, he’d give it a try with his toes. Damnation, he had to get loose somehow.

They’d tied the tubes out of his reach as well. He remembered what that other nurse had said, that they had a needle in his vein pumping liquid into him. Like something out of Jules Verne. Or maybe Dr. Frankenstein. He eyed the translucent bag overhead, bulging with clear fluid. A smaller bag hung beside it. This one was red, like what had sprayed from his mouth and nose while he’d struggled to catch his breath.

It was still hard to breathe, but he thought he might believe the nurse about that being the broken ribs. He no longer felt air pulling through his chest when he inhaled. He couldn’t feel anything trickling down his side either. Looking down, he could see a thick, white bandage covering the right side of his chest. He couldn’t quite see the second tube, but Nurse No-Nonsense had said he had one draining the fluid from his chest. Something about keeping his lung from collapsing. That didn’t sound comfortable at all, but he wasn’t sure about all these tubes.

And of course, he was lying here stark naked, trussed up like a Christmas turkey. Plenty of women had seen his naked chest before, but it was different when it wasn’t his choice. He wanted his clothes back – any clothes would do, actually.

Heyes turned his head, checked out the room. Even if he couldn’t move, it was habit to look for an escape route. There were lots of boxes and machines around his bed. Some of them had blinking lights, like more Jules Verne fiction. Some of them whirred softly or clicked. Heyes twitched a hard clamp off his middle finger and a box started beeping.

Within a few minutes, that nurse appeared, the one who’d threatened to slap him.

“What did I tell you about being good?” she demanded, clamping the thing back onto his finger. “You’re going to leave that oxygen monitor on or I’m going to strap you in so tight you can’t move a muscle.”

Heyes would have tried a little of the old silver tongue, but he knew when he was licked. “I’m thirsty,” he said honestly, hating the weakness in his voice.

“You can have some ice chips. You’re not cleared for anything else yet.”

Whatever that meant. He’d take ice, though, if they’d somehow saved a block from somewhere. He couldn’t imagine how they’d kept it from melting all summer. Maybe they’d sent to the mountains for some snow.

The nurse held a spoon to his lips. Cold and refreshing. “Thank you,” he said sincerely when he’d satisfied his thirst. He noticed a printed badge pinned to the woman’s chest. “Miss Etta?”

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out. Now are you going to be good or do I strap you in all the way?”

Heyes decided on the truth. “I don’t like being tied up.”

“Well, I wouldn’t either, if you must know. But you’re being a bad boy and we need to get you well.”

“I’m hurting again.” Heyes shifted, trying to get more comfortable. They’d shoved a pillow under his right side, propping it up off the bed. He wasn’t sure if it helped his breathing or not. He wanted to sit up. He wanted his hands free.

“I’ll get you something in a minute. You need to talk to somebody first.”

Etta turned toward the one door in the room. “You can come on in. He’s awake for now.”

Heyes took one look and nearly panicked. Tall fellow, broad shoulders – and a shiny badge pinned to his chest.

Heyes forced himself to breathe as normally as he could with those broken ribs. He wasn’t up to his usual right now, wasn’t feeling the con like he normally did. He could only pray the sheriff wasn’t here for what Heyes was afraid he was.

“Deputy Burton,” the man said in a deep voice. “You feel up to answering a few questions?”

Heyes tried a smile but he wasn’t sure it was visible past that damn mask-thing they’d tied over his nose and mouth. “Of course, Deputy. Whatever you need.”

The deputy pulled out a notebook and pencil, flipped to a page in the middle. “Your name is Joshua Smith?”

Heyes felt the relief deep in his belly. The Kid must have told the man their aliases. “Yes, sir, it is.”

“Are you and your friend from Porterville, Wyoming?”

“To be honest, sir –”

“It’s always best to be honest with the law, young man.”

“We move around a lot, Deputy. But if you leave word with Sheriff Lom Trevors, he can always find us.”

“That’s just it, son. I called the sheriff’s office in Porterville. Sheriff’s name is Olivetti. I had them run the name. Only sheriff Lom Trevors they’ve had was back in the 1880’s. Guess you’d better come clean.”

Back in the …? Heyes had no trouble looking confused. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on, son. I figure you’re in some sort of historic reenactment group, right? You fellows like to get all the details right, I guess.”

“Details?”

“Look, the game’s over. Just tell me the truth and nothing’s going to happen to you. No laws against dressing up and pretending you’re a cowboy.” Burton shot him a steely glare. “Unless you start waving around real pistols, that is.”

“Deputy, I swear I wasn’t waving anything around. I was just headed back to my hotel room.”

“And which hotel would that be?” The deputy jotted something down in his notebook.

Heyes took a minute to think. There was only one hotel in Blue River. The man was trying to trick him into admitting something. That much was obvious. But what was it, and how could he get out of this crazy situation without finding himself behind bars for real?

“My partner and I are staying at the Blue River Arms, Deputy. Room 7. Is he here?”

“And what’s your partner’s name?”

“Thaddeus Jones. We were playing poker.”

“So you get all dressed up and sit around playing poker? No offense, but that doesn’t sound very likely. Are you sure you don’t do something more like playing gunfighter?”

“I’m not a gunfighter.” Heyes swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. This was hitting a little too close to home. “I swear I was just walking –”

“Back to the hotel, I got that part. I take it you’re not going to tell me who shot you.”

Heyes raised one eyebrow in honest surprise. “I have no idea who shot me, Deputy. I never saw it coming.”

Burton’s expression said that he thought as much of Heyes’ honesty as Nurse Etta. “All right, then. Let’s try another tack. Who do you know that wants you dead?”

Heyes thought about it, decided on partial honesty. After all, there was always the possibility that somebody had recognized him, decided to go for the “Dead” part of “Wanted: Dead or Alive.” “No idea at all, Deputy. I was thinking it might be one of the fellows at the poker game. Somebody who really didn’t like losing.”

“You won that much? I’m going to need the names of everybody at that game.”

“I had nearly three hundred on me, Deputy. Somebody got that. They took my clothes and boots, too, actually. I think that might have been somebody here at the hospital. I don’t remember exactly.”

“Nobody stole anything, Mr. Smith. Your antique money and your clothes are locked up at the nurse’s station. I’m afraid I had to confiscate your pistol. You can have it back if you can prove legal ownership.”

Locked up? Heyes felt a wave of relief. “You have no idea how good that makes me feel. I figured I was dead broke.”

“You’re neither. Now about those names…”

“I didn’t get everybody’s name, Deputy. You know how it is with a good card game: fellows come and go, it’s first names only. I do know there were a few cowboys from the Rocking R.”

“The Rocking … I thought I told you to get your head out of the past, son. I guess you think you ought to … what is it you cosplayers call it? Stay in character?” Burton shifted his position, making the accouterments at his belt swing. 

Heyes wondered at the odd-looking pistol with the short barrel. He certainly recognized the set of handcuffs, the heavy night stick. He had no idea what the small box on the deputy’s shoulder might be – the one with the spiral cord coming out of one end. And he wasn’t certain about some of the smaller items on the belt, either. You’d think a man like Hannibal Heyes would be as familiar with a policeman’s belt as the policeman himself.

Heyes belated realized that the deputy had made a remark, was waiting for a reply. “I’ll be honest, sir. I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“Come on, son. Pretend you’re living right here in the good old 21st century and just give me some straight answers. I don’t have all day to play around.”

Heyes couldn’t think of anything to say. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand any of the words. It was just that they made no sense strung together.

Burton made a disgusted noise and flipped his notebook closed. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re doped up on whatever pain medication they’ve got you on. I’ll give you a couple of days to heal up some. But you’d better have your story straight when I come back.”

He turned for the door, meeting the gaze of Nurse Etta, who was just coming in with a syringe that Heyes hoped held the potent medication they’d given him earlier. The two exchanged a look that told Heyes exactly what they thought of him and his stories.

Etta injected the syringe into the “IV” tube and shortly Heyes felt the welcome lethargy that preceded the onset of pain relief. It wasn’t that he was in agony … exactly. He would admit that he’d never been in this much pain in his life, however, and he wasn’t going to turn down the offer of whatever was in those syringes. Had to be either opium or morphine from the reaction he’d gotten with that first syringe.

Unfortunately, with the pain alleviated a bit, his mind was free to wander, and it wandered back to his initial problem: how to get out of these damned restraints. He thought, with a little work, the other nurse might be convinced to let him loose. Then, he could get these unnatural tubes out of his arm, find the Kid and get back to the hotel where he could heal – or otherwise – in peace.


	5. The Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kid learns how to cope with a modern hospital
> 
> Warning: This work contains a graphic depiction of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you.

The Kid started from an unexpected doze and found his hand at his right hip. You’d think a man as worried as he was wouldn’t do something as stupid as nod off in a chair, no matter how long he’d been sitting there. When that doctor lady had told him Heyes was all right, something inside him he hadn’t known was tense had loosened up. 

They’d taken him through those other doors then, into yet another waiting area. Heyes was in a room called “I See You,” and the doctor said Jed could only visit him if Heyes gave his permission. For that, he had to be awake, and the nurse at the desk said Heyes wasn’t really awake yet.

The damned deputy had been in though. Just like a lawman to push his way in before anybody else. They’d turned Heyes’ derringer over to Burton in the surgery waiting area, making Jed glad he hadn’t mentioned his own pistol. Burton said something about a license, and Jed knew he and Heyes didn’t have any such thing.

Jed had found a paper though, and it backed up his crazy theory way too well. The date on the paper said April 27, 2018. Somehow that … doorway had transported them into the future. For this was Blue River still, even if he didn’t recognize one brick in the city. Jed wasn’t sure how to break the news to his partner though, not with Heyes being injured this badly. Wasn’t shock supposed to be bad for an invalid?

The Kid tried to remember everything he knew about gunshot wounds. One thing was certain: if they’d been back in their own time, he was very, very afraid that his partner would not have survived such an injury. Even if they’d found a doctor to sew up the outside, Heyes might still have bled to death on the inside. And then there was the almost certain fever that followed a bad wound. No, a chest wound was nothing more than an extended death sentence.

The modern doctor seemed to think that a chest wound was nothing more than an inconvenience. She’d been talking about making sure he coughed to exercise his lungs, and letting him get out of bed in a few days. She’d said they were giving him medicine – he’d forgotten what she called it – to prevent infection, and they’d given him blood to replace what he’d lost. Jed had no idea how they’d ended up in 2018, but he was glad they had if medicine was this advanced in the future.

Heyes was a bad patient, of course. Jed would have bet money he would be. The man was just too damn stubborn to take whatever anybody tried to do to him. Evidently, as soon as the doors had closed on the ambulance machine, he’d started fighting the folks trying to treat him. They’d had to tie him to the bed to keep him from hurting himself. And there was something about pulling out “an ivy,” which Jed took to be some sort of medicine they were trying to inject into him.

“When you visit with him,” the doctor had said, “don’t be too upset at the restraints. I’ll probably order them removed once he’s coherent.”

One of the nurses – Jed was too embarrassed to read the name tags pinned to their bosoms, but she was the cute little blonde – opened the door to the waiting area and poked her head in.

“Mr. Smith has signed the consent form, Mr. Jones. Would you like to come back and visit for a while?”

Would he? Jed shoved out of the chair.

“He’s in Room 3,” the nurse said. “Right this way. Does he call you Kid?”

Jed’s stomach dropped instinctively. Then he realized something. This wasn’t the 1890’s. They weren’t wanted for anything in 2018. They wouldn’t even be alive in 2018 if it wasn’t for that damned time doorway.

“It’s a nickname,” he told the nurse with a grin.

The “I See You” rooms were arranged in a semi-circle around the nurse’s station, so the nurses could look into each room easily. Jed glanced into Rooms 1 and 2, then wished he hadn’t. The poor souls in those beds looked on death’s door, pale and listless. And they had tubes all over, going into their bodies and coming out again. There were more machines in the rooms, too, beeping and swishing and thumping.

The nurse knocked softly on the doorway to Room 3. “Mr. Smith, do you feel like a visit? The Kid’s here.”

“Kid?” 

Jed’s stomach dropped again. Heyes sounded so weak, like he could barely talk. The Kid set his derby on the table at the doorway and moved to the bedside. Heyes looked as bad as he sounded, as bad as the people in the other rooms. His face was pale and drawn. He was obviously hurting. And he had tubes, too. Tubes going into his left hand. A tube leading from beneath the bandage on the side of his chest. And a tube coming from beneath the blankets – Jed didn’t know where that went, but he was pretty sure it was as uncomfortable as the rest of them.

“Kid,” Heyes said softly, that dimple creasing his cheek. He spoke slowly, still struggling for breath. “They just gave me some morphine or something. Give it a minute or two to kick in good.”

Morphine would explain Heyes calling him Kid right out in public, even though nobody in 2018 would even notice. 

Jed noticed a chair in the corner of the room, pulled it up beside the head of the bed. “How’re you feeling other than the obvious?”

Heyes grimaced. “Thirsty. And the nurses won’t let me have anything except little chips of ice. Says the doctor has to approve me even getting a real drink.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that, partner. Do them tubes hurt as much as they look like?”

“Nah. They ain’t natural, but they don’t really hurt.” He raised his left hand a little, and Jed, even though he’d been warned, was startled to see his wrist fastened to the bed frame.

“I’m going to see about getting you untied, too,” he promised Heyes. That doctor had to be around here somewhere, if he could just find her. Maybe one of the nurses could go get her for them.

“Good,” Heyes muttered. “I was so groggy when I woke up I thought a bounty hunter had got me.”

“I wonder if that doesn’t explain that shot,” Jed mused aloud.

“Was thinking the same thing.” Heyes shifted slightly, turning more toward the Kid. He winced a bit, but not as much as Jed would expect from a wound that size.  
“How long are they going to let you stay?” he asked. “You look like hell warmed over. You should get some sleep or something.”

As if she’d been called – and for all Jed knew, the nurses had some way of seeing and hearing everything that went on in the hospital – the Negro nurse appeared in the doorway.

“Mr. Jones,” she said. “You understand that you’re not to agitate Mr. Smith here, right? No trying to untie the restraints, either. And leave the equipment alone.”

“How long can I stay?”

She put her head on one side and looked him up and down. “We’ve got an open visitation policy here, but you look like crap. Why don’t we get you out of those bloody clothes? We can dig up some scrubs for you and you can clean up in the bathroom.”

Jed looked down at Heyes. His eyelids were half-closed. “Will you be all right if I go clean up a little, partner?” Jed asked.

Heyes made a visible effort and met his gaze. “Go on. You know where to find me.”

“Very funny. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The nurse pointed towards a door in the far wall, “That’s the closest bathroom. Why don’t you head on in and I’ll send someone to get you some scrubs.”

She gave him another one of those glares. “You should probably try to sleep when your friend does, too. That chair reclines. It’s not too uncomfortable.”

Jed opened the door to the bathroom. He should have figured they’d have indoor plumbing, though he had no idea what some of the fixtures were for. He figured out the water faucet and started stripping off his now-dried shirt and jacket. His undershirt was soaked as well, so he took that off and added it to the pile in the sink.

Within minutes, there was a knock at the door. “You decent?” a male voice asked.

Whatever that meant. Jed held his undershirt in front of his chest as he opened the door. The man outside wore the strange colorful uniform all of the nurses and doctors seemed to. He held another uniform in his hands, this one a pale bluish-green.

“You looked like you were about my size,” the man said, handing the uniform to Jed. “Just get this back to Etta before you leave. Are those things dry clean only?”   
He pointed to Jed’s suit and shirt. Jed answered honestly. “I got no idea.”

The man fingered the suit. “Probably wool. You got enough money to pay for dry cleaning?”

“Depends on how much it is.” Jed checked his wallet. “I’ve got about two hundred on me.”

“That’s plenty. Should be less than forty unless they charge extra for the blood stains. Why don’t you go ahead and hand me the pants, too. Looks like you’ve got a patch on your hip.”

Jed pulled off the rest of his clothing and handed everything to the man, who slipped back out the doorway before Jed could thank him. The Kid used some of the odd paper napkins to wash up in the sink, then put on the uniform. It was a little loose around the middle and the trousers were a bit short, but overall it was a good fit.

When he reappeared at the nurse’s station, the Negro lady – was she Etta? – looked him up and down once more.

“That’s better. Now when was the last time you ate, son?”

Jed shrugged. He barely remembered what they’d had for dinner before they’d started that long night of poker.

“Your friend’s sound asleep. You get yourself down to the cafeteria and find something for breakfast, you hear me?” She grabbed his arm and propelled him back to the waiting area. “There’s the elevator you want, Elevator G. You go down to the first floor and follow the orange line on the floor. That’ll take you right to the cafeteria.”  
She put hands on hips then. “You got any money? All your friend had was that funny antique stuff.”

Jed’s stomach did a little flip. Maybe their money wasn’t good any longer. How could they pay for all this with no money? He pulled out his wallet.

“I thought so.” Etta sighed. “Let me get my purse. I’m going to buy one of those funny dollars off you so you can get something to eat. And then you’re going to come back up here and get some sleep. You look like you’re going to fall over.”

Jed took the bills Etta handed him. She plucked a ten dollar bill from his wallet – a souvenir, she said – then pushed him toward Elevator G.

The Kid did find the café on the first floor. At first, he waited for someone to seat him, then he noticed the rest of the patrons were lining up in front of a display table. He picked up one of the trays they all held and followed along. The table was somehow heated, for it had partitions holding more food than he’d ever seen in one place before: eggs, bacon, sausages, fried potatoes, even fresh fruit in a chilled bowl.

Jed took a little of everything and followed the line to another table, where he handed over one of his bills and was given some change. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he’d just been charged nearly ten dollars for a meal. He didn’t put up a fuss because nobody else seemed to think the price exorbitant. He and Heyes were going to go broke if they had to pay these prices for food though.

At least the food was good. Jed ate quickly, as was his habit. He watched the others and returned his tray and plate to the cleaning area. Thankfully, they didn’t have to wash their own dishes.

The Kid then followed the line on the floor back to Elevator G and found the “I See You” room again.

“He’s still asleep,” Etta told him. “You look better, but you could use a nap yourself. Go recline that chair and get some shut-eye.”

Jed had no idea how you “reclined” a chair. He noticed a handle on one side of the chair, however. Pulling on that made the chair actually change shape: the back went down and the foot came up, making it into what resembled a bed. He stretched out and within minutes, was asleep.


	6. The Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The doctor evaluates Heyes' condition
> 
> Warning: This work contains a graphic depiction of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you.

Dr. Kealy flipped through the charts on what she thought of as her mystery patient. Not only was the man some sort of historic cosplayer, but he’d evidently refused to break character even long enough to tell Deputy Burton who’d shot him. And there was the question of his name. If he was a re-enactor, who was to say that Joshua Smith wasn’t the name of his character instead of his real name?

Maybe she ought to pull Psych in on this one. If the fellow was unable to distinguish between fact and fiction, maybe they needed to transfer him to their ward once he could be moved. Maybe he was some poor mental patient who’d been wandering the streets and wound up facing the wrong people.

That didn’t play out to her though. He was too clean, for one – neatly shaved and smelling more of cologne than sweat. Too, he’d been shot only once, from a distance. Either it had been deliberate, or he’d really been in the wrong place when some distant fool fired his weapon. If he’d wandered into a gang war or drug deal, he wouldn’t have been able to stagger into the street afterwards.

She was no gunshot expert, but it had been a large caliber slug, probably a .45. If, as her nurse had supposed, this was a cosplayer re-enactment gone bad, it might even be an antique pistol. Surely that derringer they’d turned over to Burton had looked like something out of the Wild West.

Whatever the man’s name, he wasn’t out of danger yet. He’d spiked a worrisome fever which told her she hadn’t gotten everything out of the wound. That was the trouble with gunshots: you got all sorts of things carried into the body along with the bullet. Cloth from the shirt and jacket, anything that might have been in an upper pocket (and that included money, which was one of the most germ-ridden items carried around in the human pocket), dirt and germs from the weapon itself – she’d even seen bits of wood from nearby trees. 

She’d ordered a broad-spectrum antibiotic that ought to do the trick. They’d delivered the last of the blood a few hours ago, to replace what he’d lost during surgery, so he was just getting fluids and the antibiotic now. She wasn’t certain he was up to eating just yet, not with such trauma to the system. She wrote “Clear Liquids” on the diet chart.

Time to see for herself just what was going on in Room 3. She knocked once, then stepped inside. Brown eyes turned her way, though she could tell the brain behind them was fuzzy from the hydromorphone. The man’s tall friend lay stretched out in the visitor’s chair. At her knock, he started awake and sat up quickly. His blue eyes shot her an icy glare before he seemed to remember her from the operating room.

“Dr. Kealy? Good morning.” The man sounded as if she’d wakened him from a really sound sleep. He probably needed a good eight hours.

She introduced herself to “Smith” and crossed to the bedside.

“Lemme loose.” The man spoke haltingly, still obviously in some respiratory difficulty. Probably the broken ribs.

Dr. Kealy ignored the request for the moment. “We’ll see. Let’s get a good look at you first, see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing rotten. I’m tied up like a dog and I hurt.”

“You’re hurting now? On a scale of one to ---“

“All right, all right. You medical people and your scales. Maybe not right this minute but I need my hands and legs free.”

“Smith’s” friend – hadn’t he said his name was Jones? And wasn’t that a bit obvious? – rose and stood hesitantly at the head of the bed. “You don’t need to keep him tied up, Doc. He’s not going to fight anybody. He was just ---“

“In shock. I’m aware of that.” Dr. Kealy pulled out her penlight and examined “Smith’s” pupils. Constricted from the hydromorphone of course, but good response, even reactions. 

“What is that?” “Smith” asked, staring at her light with interest.

“Haven’t you ever had an eye exam?”

“Nope. I see fine.”

“An eye exam is still a good idea. You might have other problems besides poor eyesight that might need to be corrected.”

“Don’t explain that little light though. Where’d you get that?”

“Jones” was staring at the light with the same puzzled expression. Dr. Kealy held up her penlight and gave it a good look herself. Were they serious or were they still playing their historic characters? 

“I don’t know how to answer that question,” she finally said. “I really need you to break character and be with me in the present, if that’s what you’re doing.”

“I got no idea what you just said but I’ll do whatever you say so long as you untie me.”

“That’s good because I need you to cooperate. Do you remember pulling your IV out? Fighting the EMTs?”

“Smith” gave her a sheepish look. “I remember I was pretty confused when I got here. I thought they were trying to rob me.”

“Now you know better. What about that IV?”

Now the brow furrowed. “I still say that ain’t natural. Can’t you just give me some pills or something?”

“Pills don’t work very quickly. IV painkillers and antibiotics are better for right now. If you want your hands loose, you’ll have to promise to leave the medical equipment alone.”

She leaned forward to give him a stern glare. “That means the chest tube, too. You need that to drain the blood and fluid out of your lung.”

“I ain’t never had no tube in me before.”

“There’s a first time for everything. You need to leave those tubes in place, leave the oxygen mask on your face, and leave the monitor on your finger.”

“Smith’s” eyes cut toward the door, where one of the nurses stood, arms crossed, nodding at Dr. Kealy’s speech.

“That’s right,” Dr. Kealy said firmly. “They tell me everything that goes on in here. And if I’m going to get you well, I have to know everything.”

“Smith wilted. “Just let me loose. I’ll leave the tubes alone.”

“I’ll remind him, Doc,” “Jones “put in. “We’ll do whatever it takes to get him well again.”

Dr. Kealy crossed her arms and gave the two her best Doctor Stare. “I suppose I should give you the chance to prove yourself. I’ll remove the restraints on the condition that you cooperate fully with myself and the hospital staff. If I find out you’ve given them any trouble whatsoever, I’ll have you strapped back in and you’ll stay that way until I release you from the hospital.”

“Smith” gave her a searching look. His mouth turned down and his shoulders drooped. “I believe you.”

“And you’ll behave yourself?”

The man heaved a sigh – or what passed as one considering his difficulty breathing. “I’ll behave. Even Etta won’t be able to complain.”

Dr. Kealy unbuckled the restraints. “Smith” raised a hand to his face, then paused. “Can I scratch under this thing without you getting proddy?”

“You can scratch. You can even take it off for a few moments at a time. Just remember that oxygen isn’t going to help you breathe unless the mask is on your face.”

“I ain’t sure what oxygen is, but I’ll leave the thing alone.”

“Smith” rubbed his nose energetically, then replaced the mask. 

“Now, in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve got one more tube that you have to leave alone.” Dr. Kealy explained the urinary catheter, feeling just a bit amused to see both men’s faces flush. Men and their preoccupation with their organs. And yet they blushed when a woman spoke bluntly.

“Can I at least get some clothes?” “Smith” said at last, his voice subdued.

“I’ll get you some scrub pants, but I’d rather have your chest open to the air for awhile. If anything’s going to go bad in there, I want to be able to get at it instantly.”

“Smith” paled. “Do I even want to ask what could go bad?”

“If you aren’t good, you could pull a suture loose and start bleeding inside. Your infection could spread. You might contract pneumonia. I might have missed a piece of rib and it could work its way somewhere vital.” Dr. Keely took pity on the man at that point. “And I can fix any of those situations, so don’t worry. Just try to lie still and let your body heal.”

“Smith” raised his left hand. “I promise. What about some breakfast?”

“I’ll let you have some clear liquids, see how you do on those.”

“Smith’s” face fell. “Why don’t that sound good?”

“Clear liquids include hot broth, coffee without creamer, apple juice, and most anything else you can see through. I’ll have something sent up.”

“Better than ice chips, I suppose.”

“I still wish you’d tell us what your name really is.”

The left cheek dimpled. “It’s Joshua Smith.”

Dr. Kealy let it go. Maybe it wasn’t as important to know his real name. What she had to decide was whether he actually believed he was some historical character or not. Maybe she did need to call in a psych consult after all.

***

Heyes heaved what passed for a sigh and scratched underneath the damned face mask again. The trouble was, he’d started running a fever, and sweat kept dripping down inside the mask. That lady – she’d said she was an actual doctor, though he wasn’t sure he should believe her or not – had ordered some pills for him to swallow. Nurse Etta had said they were called “Tylenol” and were better than aspirin, whatever that was.

At least his arm and legs were free. And the Kid was here, even though he’d fallen back asleep as soon as the doctor had left. Jed needed sleep just as much as Heyes did.

It was nice to be able to move his legs, though. He pulled one knee up, wincing at the feel of the “catheter” tugging at places that shouldn’t be tugged. But he’d promised to leave the tubes alone, and he certainly didn’t want to give Etta the opportunity to strap his hands back down again.

Evidently one of Etta’s jobs was measuring whatever was draining out of his tubes and writing that down, along with the results of a bunch of other things she periodically did to him, like squeezing his arm with another fat tube and shoving what she claimed was a thermometer under his tongue. And they kept trying to get him to breathe deeply and cough, even though it hurt like hell. The only thing keeping him from up and walking off was the fact that he couldn’t figure out how to get out of the damned bed without rupturing something. He’d never seen a bed with bars on it before.

Heyes wasn’t pleased with the “clear liquid” that arrived shortly after the doctor had left. The Kid woke up when they knocked on the door. 

“That don’t look nothing like breakfast,” he said, eyeing the broth. 

Heyes was hungry enough to eat – or rather, drink – anything. The coffee was horribly weak, though, and he’d have killed for a biscuit or slice of bread to go with the broth. There was a bowl of some sort of gelatin cubes that he could at least chew on, so he felt a little more full afterwards.

“You can have anything you want to drink,” Etta told him as she gave him the “Tylenol” tablets. “So long as it’s clear. Just press the call button.”

She pointed out a painted spot on the bed railing. Heyes tried pushing it. Etta slapped at his hand.

“You don’t need to push it while I’m standing right here.” She glanced over at the Kid. “You can have a drink, too. We’ll just charge it to the bill. That way you don’t need to keep running down to the cafeteria whenever you’re thirsty.”

Heyes didn’t want to ask about that bill. He didn’t want to know how much all these machines cost. He only hoped that he and Jed had enough between them to pay.  
Jed admitted he’d like a cup of coffee. “I don’t see how nobody can sleep with all you folks coming in and out all the time.”

“That’s a hospital for you,” Etta said with a grin.

“What happened to the other nurse?” Heyes asked. “The one that didn’t threaten to slap me into next week?”

“She ain’t going to bring you no food if that’s what you’re thinking. But I’ll let Abby bring Mr. Jones here his coffee. You want a doughnut or something with that, Jones?”

The nerve of the woman. But the Kid was always hungry. He cast a sheepish glance at Heyes and nodded. Within moments, the cute blonde nurse was back with coffee and a plate holding not one but two doughnuts.

“Why can’t I have real food?” Heyes complained. “I’m being good.”

Abby leaned over to place a hand on his forehead. She frowned at the temperature. “One reason is that your medicine makes you nauseated. We’re giving you some Zofran for that, but if you eat solid food too quickly, you might get sick at your stomach.”

Heyes had stopped trying to understand what he figured was medical talk. He had no idea what medicine they were giving him or what it was doing. He didn’t feel particularly nauseated.

He tried a smile. “Couldn’t I have something besides that excuse for coffee? Beer’s clear, ain’t it?”

Abby’s eyes widened. “You can’t have beer! Do you know what would happen if you drank alcohol with those pain medications? You could stop breathing!”

The Kid choked on his coffee, nearly spewing it over the floor. “You ain’t getting no beer then,” he said firmly once he could talk again.

“You could have a soda,” Abby suggested. 

Heyes grimaced. “Not a big fan of water, either.”

“No, I meant like a Coke or Sprite.”

Whatever those were. “You got anything that’s not water or fruit juice?”

“You’ve never had a Coke before? Where are you two from?”

Heyes glanced at the Kid, who looked blankly back. “Kansas?”

“They have Cokes in Kansas, Mr. Smith. I’ll bring you one.”

She brought him, not a bottle but a can so cold the water had condensed on the outside. Heyes was glad she opened it for him. He’d never have figured out that little metal tab on the top. It was sweet like juice, but carbonated like soda water. He drank half the can before his eyelids started drooping again. That was the trouble with pain medicine – it just made you too damn sleepy. 

Knowing the Kid was two steps away made it easier to let himself fall asleep though. He lay back and surrendered to the morphine.


	7. Interlude in the ICU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyes is feeling a little better -- and he's bored. And a bored Heyes always means trouble.
> 
> Warning: This work contains a graphic depiction of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you.

“You got anything to read around here?”

Uh oh. Heyes was bored. And a bored Heyes was trouble. The Kid glanced at his partner, trying to avoid looking at Nurse Abby’s tight uniform. Should he forbid Heyes to read the newspaper? Surely a shock like that would be bad for him.

“I’ll get a volunteer to bring up the book cart,” Abby said. She wrote down whatever she was measuring from the machines and headed back to the nurse’s station. 

Heyes polished off the last of his Coke. The Kid had tried it – pretty tasty, though he thought the overly sweet flavor might be a little much over time. He’d stick to coffee for now. Heyes heaved a sigh and rolled over onto his side. The tube running from his chest bothered Jed. It just looked like something Dr. Frankenstein would cook up. But if the doctor said it was helping, he’d let the thing be.

“Kid,” Heyes muttered, “ You notice anything weird about this hospital?”

Uh oh. Trouble. Jed forced himself to smile. “Like what?”

That thick eyebrow rose upwards – the one that said Heyes wasn’t buying whatever you were selling. “Like all these machines with nothing powering them? Like the lights? Like the crazy nurses and their uniforms? Like this can of Coke?”

The Kid pretended to study one of the machines. “I guess they are a little strange.”

“Strange? Kid I don’t think we’re in Blue River any more.” Heyes struggled for a moment, then sat back up. “This is going to sound totally crazy, but I felt dizzy right after I got shot. And the air was shimmering like a mirage. I think that was some sort of doorway to another place.”

Jed had to sit down. He put his chin in his hands. “Not another place, Heyes. Another time. We’re in the future. I saw a newspaper in the waiting room.”

Heyes’ eyes widened. “That would explain it, all right. How in hell do we get back home?”

“Are you sure you want to go? You’re still pretty sick according to that lady doctor.” The Kid leaned close, lowered his voice. “And we ain’t wanted for nothing in the future. They might not even recognize our names if we told them.”

“We also ain’t got no modern money and no jobs. I’ll bet they got nothing we even know how to do, neither. Did you see that little light the doctor had? How do you even make something like that?”

The Kid had to shrug. “But we could learn stuff, Heyes. I’ll bet I could handle one of them carriages they got. Deputy Burton didn’t seem to have no trouble.”

“You don’t know how long it takes to learn something like that, Kid. I can’t even figure out how to get out of this damn bed.”

“That’s because you’re doped up on morphine. It’s probably something real simple. And it’s probably a good idea if you don’t even try to get out of bed yet. You’re still running a fever.”

Heyes gave him a serious look. “I know. And I need to get something off my chest here. If I don’t make it, Kid –“

“Don’t’ talk like that, Heyes. I ain’t gonna listen to no talk like that.”

“Kid, we both know what happens when you get shot and start running a fever. You’ve got to think about it.”

“Nope. They got medicine for that sort of thing now. Nurse Etta done give you them Tylenol things and that lady doctor said they’d bring your fever down.”

“Whoever heard of a lady doctor anyhow? You’re a sucker for a pretty face.”

“That ain’t it. She’s smart. She said you’re gonna be out of bed in a couple of days and I got to make sure you do your breathing exercises like they showed you.”

Heyes said nothing for a moment. Probably counting ten under his breath. “All they every want me to do is breathe deep and cough, and both of them things hurt worse than it’s hurting now. They can’t be good for me.”

Jed shook his head firmly. “If Doc Kealy says you need to do ‘em, you’re gonna do ‘em. I ain’t heard you do no coughing lately, anyhow.”

Heyes let out a token cough. “I’m trying to be serious here, Kid. What if I don’t get well? How are you going to survive in the future?”

The Kid didn’t want to even think about it, didn’t want to admit the possibility that he could be alone for the rest of his life. “You don’t need to worry about that, Heyes. These doctors in the future, they’re a lot better than ours are. Doc Kealy done sewed up that bullet hole like it wasn’t even there. I was watching when Nurse Abby changed your bandages earlier. It’s just a little bitty line of stitches.”

“Feels like I been run over by a freight train.”

“When Doc Kealy was talking to me in that surgery room, she said you’d feel worse today and tomorrow, then you’d perk back up and want to get out of bed.”

“I sure feel worse. I think my fever’s going back up.”

“Poke that nurse button on the rails. See if they can give you some more of them pills.”

Heyes poked the colored spot on the railing. A few moments went by, then Abby’s voice spoke. It sounded as if she was somehow inside the railing.

“Did you need something, Mr. Smith?”

Heyes and the Kid exchanged a puzzled glance, then Heyes spoke loudly. “I think my fever’s getting worse.”

“It’s time for your next dose of Tylenol. One of us will be right in.”

Heyes raised an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me that ain’t just plain weird, Kid. Talking to a bed rail.”

“It’s some kind of machine is all. Just like all the rest of these things in here.”

Abby bustled in with a paper cup and another can of Coke. “This should make you feel better. Are you getting hungry for dinner?”

“More broth?” Heyes grimaced. “Not really. I could do some damage to a steak dinner, though.”

“We’ll see when Dr. Kealy stops by. We’re getting ready to change shifts, so it’s going to be a good idea for Mr. Jones here to go down and get himself some dinner. We don’t allow visitors during shift change because that’s when we go over all the medical information with each patient.”

Heyes’ cheek dimpled. “Will my new nurse be as pretty as you?”

Abby blushed and dropped her gaze. “The night shift nurses are Susan and Todd.”

“A man nurse?” Jed blurted out.

Abby’s brow furrowed. “Why can’t a man be a nurse? A woman can be a doctor, can’t she?”

The Kid hung his head. For a moment, he’d forgotten they were in the future. “I reckon so.”

“Todd is an excellent nurse. And his husband is an anesthesiologist, so they both work here at the hospital.”

Jed couldn’t think of anything to say to that. After all, they had men that swung that way back in the 1880’s too. They just didn’t get married.

“Should I go on and get me some food now?” he asked.

“That’d be best,” Abby replied. “Give us thirty or forty minutes to change shifts. Maybe you could take a walk in the garden, get some exercise before you come back up.”  
Jed put a hand on Heyes’ good shoulder. “I’ll be right back, partner. You just practice your coughing and breathing.”

“And drink my broth.”

“Maybe the doc’ll let you have some solid food.” Jed shoved out of the chair and strode toward the elevator. At least now he knew what he was doing. He just wished he wasn’t still worried about his partner. He didn’t like that talk about Heyes not making it. Didn’t like it at all.


	8. Shift Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shift change brings new nurses ... and a visitor.
> 
> Warning: This work contains a graphic depiction of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you.

“And this is Mr. Smith.” Etta passed the chart to Todd. “Gunshot wound late last night. Conscious but feverish. We think he’s some sort of historic cosplayer.”

“When’s dinner?” Mr. Smith asked in a panting voice. The chart said he had several broken ribs. That’d make it really hard to breathe normally.

Etta put hands on hips. “You ought to be glad Dr. Kealy approved you to have solid food instead of complaining dinner’s late. The cafeteria had to make up a special meal just for you.”

“So when’s it going to get here?”

“Soon.” Etta turned back to Todd and Susan. “It’s nearly time for his hydromorphone shot. He always gets cranky when it starts wearing off.”

“You’d be cranky if you had a hole in your chest with a tube stuck into you.” Smith muttered.

“Probably so.” Etta waited until Susan had glanced over the vitals records, then led the way to Room 4 and old Mrs. Crabtree. By the time they’d made their rounds and called the various visitors back into ICU, Mr. Smith’s dinner had arrived. 

Todd stuck his head into the room. “I brought your pain medication. How’s dinner?”

Smith’s left cheek dimpled. “If you’re in jail, the army or a hospital, you don’t complain about the food. It’s good.”

Todd studied the two as he injected the hydromorphone and checked Smith’s vitals. Both quite handsome men – Smith dark and Jones blond. Smith did look like a charmer, as Etta had put it. He had a certain light in his eyes, even doped up on hydromorphone. Smith seemed as if he were right on the verge of smiling at a joke you hadn’t caught. Jones, on the other hand, looked like the more serious of the pair. His blue eyes were worried as he watched Todd record his friend’s vitals.

“Is he still running a fever?” Jones asked.

“That’s not unusual with a gunshot wound,” Todd reassured the man. “We’re giving him a really strong antibiotic to kill the infection. It just takes a day or so to kick in good. He’ll be up and around in a couple more days.”

“That’s what I keep telling him.”

Smith spoke around a mouthful of roast turkey and mashed potatoes. “I’m just pointing out that nothing’s perfect. Something might go wrong.”

Todd put a hand on Smith’s good shoulder. “Try not to worry. We’ve had lots of gunshot victims through here, some of them a whole lot worse than you. Dr. Kealy is an excellent surgeon. If something does go wrong, she can repair it.”

Smith didn’t look entirely convinced. Todd resolved to check in a little more often with this patient. Attitude had a lot to do with healing, and a patient who was convinced he was going to die might just do that despite modern medicine.

***

The Kid turned the page. This “Harry Potter” fellow was right interesting. Jed wasn’t as fast a reader as Heyes, but he could puzzle his way through a book if you gave him time. That book lady had shown up right after dinner with a whole cart full of little paper books, like fat dime novels. Heyes had picked two and Jed had decided he’d probably need something to pass the time while his partner slept and got well.

Heyes was getting cranky. Either he was hurting more than he was letting on, or he was getting feverish again. He was reading about somebody named “Sherlock Holmes” but he kept dozing off and losing his place. Jed finally plucked the book from his hands as he drew back his arm to pitch the thing out the doorway.

“Why don’t you just take a nap?” he asked his partner. “Probably feel a lot better if you do.”

“I’m tired of taking naps. I want to stay awake longer than fifteen minutes at a stretch.”

“But Heyes, you’re still real sick, you know. You ought not to expect yourself to be able to jump right out of bed after something like this.”

It was probably a good thing that somebody picked that moment to knock on the doorway. Heyes shut his mouth – not without a glare in Jed’s direction – and put on his neutral expression, the one he wore while he figured out what made you tick.

The man in the doorway was a thin fellow with a thin smile. “I’m Dr. Owens,” he said. “Dr. Kealy asked me to speak with you.

Owens had a notebook too, like the police deputy. “I see you’re calling yourself Joshua Smith. Is that the name you were born with?”

Whoops. Heyes had better watch this fellow. He was sneaky. Jed sat back down to watch the action. Heyes tried looking confused. “I don’t remember being born, so I have to take my dear old mother’s word for that.”

“So you’re claiming that Joshua Smith is your legal name.”

Heyes widened his eyes. “You’d have to ask a lawyer that question. I’m not that experienced with the fine points of the law.”

Dr. Owens’ brows drew together. “Let’s just move on to the next question.”

“Why don’t you just leave me a pamphlet and I’ll fill it out when I have time?”

“Sometimes it’s more valuable to be able to see the patient’s body language.” The man glanced at Jed as if maybe he expected him to jump up and offer him the chair. Then he sighed.“Just answer to the best of your ability. Do you know what the date is?”

Heyes grinned. “No idea. It was Tuesday when I got shot, though.”

“Why don’t you tell me about that. Do you remember what happened?”

Heyes told the doctor all about it, leaving out the part where The Kid had taken care of their bushwhacker. No sense muddying the waters. “And then I woke up here. I think it might be Wednesday, maybe Thursday.”

“It’s Wednesday night. Dr. Kealy is concerned you might not have a place to stay once you get out of the hospital.”

“My partner and I are in the Blue River Arms. His name is Thaddeus Jones in case you’re wondering. And how is this helping my injury? You ain’t even looked at the bandage yet.”

“I’m a psychiatrist, not a surgeon.”

Jed looked the man over. Owens had that look on his face that said he expected to be kow-towed to. Whatever he was, he thought he was important.

Heyes raised an eyebrow. “I’ll bite. What’s a psychiatrist and why do I need one? Seems to me you folks ought to be worrying about my chest.”

“I specialize in the mind, young man. I’m here to determine your mental competence.”

Jed felt an icy thrill. “Why do you need to test his competence, Doc? Ain’t nothing wrong with his mind.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask that you let Mr. Smith answer the questions. If you’re going to interrupt, I’ll have you removed from the room.”

Jed shoved to his feet, his mouth open to tell the man exactly what he thought of his importance. He glanced over. Heyes shook his head slowly, his eyes wide. Jed sat back down on the edge of the chair. So help him, if that son of a biscuit said one more thing ….

Owens gave Heyes another thin smile. “Just answer the questions to the best of your ability.”

Heyes checked the clock outside the room and told Owens what time it was. He figured out what time it would be in six hours and relayed that as well. He repeated a series of numbers back to the doctor. He counted down from 100 by sevens. He spelled “hotel” forwards and backwards. He named things that started with the letter L.

He even remembered it was April in the year 2018.

The damned doctor even wanted to know about Heyes’ childhood. By that time, Heyes looked as frustrated as Jed felt. Jed spotted him punching the bed railing when the doctor turned away to check his notebook. Dr. Owens started at the sudden voice from the rail.

“I’m hurting,” Heyes said loudly. 

Within minutes, Todd appeared at the bedside. “Sorry to interrupt,” he told the doctor.

“I’m about done anyway,” Owens said with a sniff, closing his notebook. “Please tell Dr. Kealy to expect my call.”

Todd frowned as he laid the back of his hand on Heyes’ forehead. “It’s way too early for your pain medication. Is your fever getting worse?

He glanced toward the doorway and lowered his voice. “Or were you just trying to get rid of Dr. Owens?”

Heyes’ cheek dimpled. “Mostly. I do feel rough though.”

“You’re hot again. I’ll ask Dr. Kealy to get you something besides the Tylenol.”

Jed shoved out of the chair. “But you’re gonna get his fever down, right? You got more medicine besides them Tylenols?”

Todd clapped the Kid on the shoulder. “Absolutely. We’ll get that fever down, not to worry. Probably just need to alternate the acetaminophen with some ibuprofen.”

Jed followed Todd from the room. “What’s going to happen if that doctor says my partner ain’t in his right mind?”

“I doubt he’s going to say that. Anybody can see that Mr. Smith is quite intelligent. I don’t think you should worry.

Todd grinned and took a seat behind the desk. “So long as he didn’t say our first president was Jesus Christ, that is.”


	9. The Truth Will Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Kealy discovers something surprising.
> 
> Warning: This work contains a graphic depiction of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you.

Dr. Kealy rubbed her eyes and yawned as the elevator doors opened to the ICU unit. She’d been enjoying a little cat-nap in the staff room when her pager had gone off. Seems her mystery patient wasn’t responding to the acetaminophen as well as they’d hoped he would. She scanned the chart: fever rising steadily since she’d last seen him. Pushing 104 now.

“Let’s alternate ibuprofen with the acetaminophen,” she said, scrawling an order onto the chart. “Try some cold packs, too. Is he awake?”

Todd shrugged. “On and off. I’ve been trying to get him to drink more.”

Dr. Kealy strode to Room 3, “Smith’s” eyes were open, but not entirely focused. His face and chest were flushed. She checked his pulse: more rapid than she liked, and his breathing was still rapid and shallow. 

“Smith’s” friend rose as she entered. “His fever’s getting worse, Doc. Can’t you do something?”

“It’s going to take some time for that antibiotic to take effect,” she repeated. “In the meantime, we’ll do our best to bring your fever down.”

Dr. Kealy pulled out her stethoscope to listen to that lung again. She didn’t like the rattle that was developing.

“Who was that Dr. Owens?” “Smith” asked weakly, “and why is my mental competence in question.”

Kealy’s blood pressure rose. She’d specifically requested Dr. Thomas. Owens was a stuck-up snob with the bedside manner of Frank Burns from M.A.S.H. “I’m sorry about that,” she said honestly. “I’d asked for another doctor to come and talk with you.”

“But you think I’m crazy.”

She was going to have a long talk with Dr. Owens once she got herself out of this pickle. “I think you may be confused. Maybe need to go back on your medication.”

“Jones” hovered at the bedside as usual, and as usual, refused to meet her gaze. “He don’t take no medication, Doc. Neither of us is sick.”

She had to admit they didn’t look schizophrenic. They were neat and clean, for one thing – a delusional schizophrenic would have let his hygiene go to the dogs way before he became convinced he was some character from the Old West. “Smith” and “Jones” were well dressed as well, or had been before the gunshot. They’d had on clean suits, in good repair and well-fitted.

“It’s just the fact that you were wearing such old-fashioned clothing and refused to give your right names. Either you’re wanted for something –“ was that a wince from “Jones”? – “or you really believe you’re two characters from the Old West.”

“So,” “Smith” put in, “just because we’re dressed in antique clothing we’re crazy?”

“Of course not. It’s the way you talk, the way you pretend you’ve never seen things like penlights and IV tubing. So now would be a good time to break character and come clean.”

Smith shoved himself into a seated position. “What if I told you my name was Heyes and his was Curry?”

“Jones” started, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Heyes and Curry? Why did that sound so …Kealy rolled her eyes. “So now you’re outlaws? Why not Butch and Sundance?”

“Who?”

“What year did you tell Dr. Owens it was anyhow?”

Heyes’ left cheek dimpled. “It’s 2018, of course.”

Dr. Kealy crossed her arms. “If you know that, why do you pretend you’re from the Old West?”

“Maybe because when I got shot, it was 1886.”

Kealy could only stare. “Smith” stared back, his brown eyes somber. “Jones’” face had paled, but he said nothing.

“You realize how that sounds?” Dr. Kealy finally asked.

“I do. I also think you can keep an open mind and not make snap judgments. It can’t be normal to have two men with the same delusion. So how do you explain my partner and I?”

“I was hoping you were just die-hard cosplayers who refused to break character.”

“I don’t even know what you just said, but I’ll bet it ain’t us. I know how crazy it sounds, but the Kid and I were walking back to the Blue River Arms from the Silver Streak Saloon. In 1886. We hit some sort of – I don’t know, time doorway -- and ended up here.”

“The Arms is a dump. Why would you be staying there?”

“Smith” – or was it Heyes? – shot a glance at his friend. “It wasn’t a dump back then. It was the nicest of the two hotels in town.”

“You know, I can look that up. Was Blue River even a town in 1886?”

“A nice sized one, actually. I’d say about two thousand people. Two hotels, five saloons, a church – good place to settle down if you were of a mind to.”

“All right, then. I’ll bite. Who was president in 1886?”

“Smith” didn’t even think about it. “Grover Cleveland. Chubby gentleman. Used to be governor of New York. Almost lost the election because he had an illegitimate child.”

Damn. Now she’d have to look up Grover Cleveland. “I suppose you’ve memorized a lot of facts like that.”

Heyes gave her another dazzling smile. “Just don’t ask me who the Secretary of State is. I don’t keep up with politics usually. I can tell you the governor of Wyoming.”

“Didn’t Heyes and Curry get amnesty sometime back then?”

Heyes cut another glance at his friend. Their eyes widened. “We ain’t got it yet. You mean we actually do get amnesty? Maybe you could look up the year so we know how long we’ve got to wait.”

“If we get back,” “Jones” muttered. He looked as if he wanted to clap a hand over his mouth.

“I’ll be sure to Google it.” Dr. Kealy turned for the door. “I should just call Dr. Owens and have you both admitted.

She glanced back. “Smith” gave her a dimpled smile that ought to have melted her earrings.

“But you won’t,” he said softly. “Because you’re going to keep an open mind. Why don’t you look up some facts from 1886 and ask me about them? Because, as crazy as it sounds, that’s the honest truth.”

“So I should call you Hannibal Heyes?”

“Just Heyes. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread that around until you make up your mind. If you know what I mean.”

“I get your point. All right. I’ll keep an open mind until I’m convinced otherwise. Good night, gentlemen.”

At the nurse’s station, she collected “Smith’s” chart once more. “I’m starting him on a low dose of risperidone. He’ll probably be more sedated, so keep an eye on his breathing. If his O2 drops, I’ll D/C the risperidone.”

Let’s see if that story changed in a day or two. Dr. Kealy pulled out her iPhone to Google Grover Cleveland on the way to the elevator.


	10. A Bad Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Heyes is dry-gulched on the way back from a poker game. He and The Kid stumble through a time portal and wind up in the modern era -- just in time to step onto a busy street.
> 
> Warning: This work contains graphic depictions of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you.

The Kid started awake. Heyes was at it again. Ever since they’d given him that new medicine, he’d been tossing and turning, claiming he couldn’t get comfortable. Just as Jed would nod off, Heyes would let out a sigh or a groan and change positions again.

Jed was actually surprised that Heyes had taken the new medicine without questioning it. Todd had said the doctor wanted to try something along with the fever medicine. Something about helping his mood. Heyes must really be feeling bad, because he just swallowed all of the pills without saying anything.

The Kid had been trying to get him to drink more, like Todd had said. It’d help bring his fever down. And Heyes still wasn’t taking his breathing exercises seriously. Jed wasn’t sure, but he thought Heyes was starting to wheeze. He wondered if Todd had noticed or if Jed should point that out.

He poked the button on the bed that turned on the dim light at the head. “Are you hurting?” he asked softly. “Want me to go get Todd or Susan?”

“I’ll be OK until it’s time for my next dose. I just can’t get comfortable. Whenever I try to get to sleep, I feel like I got to move.”

“Your face looks flushed again. I’m going to go get Todd.”

“I’ll get some cold packs,” the nurse said after Jed told him. “Dr. Kealy thought we might need those. I’ll listen to his chest again, too.”

The Kid helped pack the soft icy packs around Heyes’ torso, atop the sheets.

“These will bring that pesky fever down,” Todd said firmly. “Now let me see about that wheeze the Kid says you’ve developed.”

Because Jed was watching for it, he noticed when Todd’s expression changed. The man forced a smile immediately, but Jed had seen the worry in his eyes.

“It’s bad, ain’t it?”

“It’s nothing we can’t handle. I just think we might need to switch to another antibiotic.”

“What’s wrong? Is it his lung collapsing again?”

“Oh no, that won’t happen with the chest tube in place. I think it’s pneumonia, but I can’t be sure without an X-Ray. I’m going to page Dr. Kealy and see about getting one.”

Jed looked at his partner. Heyes just lay listlessly on the bed, not even trying to follow the conversation. 

“How much does that X-Ray hurt?” Jed asked.

Todd put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed firmly. “Not a bit. It’s just a way of seeing inside the body without cutting anybody open. It’s like a photograph.”

“Ain’t pneumonia real dangerous?”

“It can be, but Mr. Smith is already in the best place for someone with pneumonia to be – the hospital. Try not to worry about it.”

The Kid didn’t even bother trying. He was going to worry. It was his job to worry. After all, he’d been keeping Heyes alive since they were barely out of short pants.  
He watched Todd write down all the measurements he always took. He didn’t like the little line between Todd’s brows as he took the readings.

“Mr. Smith, you really need to drink more,” Todd said, putting a gentle hand on Heyes’ shoulder. “You need to flush that infection out of your system and keep your kidneys healthy.”

“’M not thirsty,” Heyes muttered. He turned his face away and closed his eyes.

Todd sighed. “I’ll come and change out the cold packs in ten or fifteen minutes. In the meantime, I’ll see if Dr. Kealy will authorize an X-ray and some stronger antibiotics.”

“Get him one of them Cokes,” Jed suggested. “I’ll make him drink it.”

The Kid didn’t like the way Heyes was just lying there. He still shifted positions every few minutes, but the light had gone out of his eyes. He looked rough. Maybe Jed should suggest they let him get a shave and wash off a bit. That ought to perk him up. Heyes never could stand being dirty and unshaven.

As if the man were a mind reader, Todd showed back up at the doorway with the Coke in one hand and a small pan of water in the other. “I thought you might like a sponge bath. That might cool you off a bit, too.”

“Want some sleep,” Heyes retorted. 

Todd handed Jed the Coke and pulled down the sheets over Heyes’ chest. “I think you’ll be able to sleep better once we get this fever under control.”

Heyes made no further protest and Todd pulled a washcloth from his pocket and sponged Heyes off, staying away from the bandages on his right side.

“Just let that cool you off some,” he said. “And drink something. I’ll see about getting you a shave before I clock out this morning.”

“See?” Jed said, setting the Coke onto the rolling table. “You’re bound to feel better once you get a good shave.”

Heyes muttered a word that his dear old mother would have tanned his hide for even knowing.

“I get it,” Jed replied. “You’re tired of being sick. What you got to get into that thick head of yours is that you almost died. If we were back home, I’d be talking to a damn undertaker. You got to give it some time, Heyes. You got to let yourself get well.”

“M trying. Sorry I’m out of sorts.” Heyes reached for the Coke. “I guess I ought to do what the doctor says, huh?”

That didn’t stop the Kid’s worrying. He just didn’t like the expression in Heyes’ eyes. It was too much like defeat.

***

Dr. Kealy shuffled back to the ICU. She’d actually expected “Smith” – she was halfway ready to call him “Heyes” after her Googling session — to cause some sort of problem. She’d started with Grover Cleveland and ended with Victorian etiquette. Next time the patient felt like chatting, she was going to be ready.

The X-Ray team arrived and shot a couple of films. Kealy looked over the results. “Good call,” she told the nurse. “Looks like developing pneumonia. Let’s switch to vancomycin q twelve hours.”

“We broke out the cold packs and I gave him a sponge bath to try to get the fever back down. It’s still running close to 103.”

Kealy stuck her head into the room. “Jones” had reclined his chair, but he wasn’t asleep. He looked worried. She put a hand on his shoulder.

“Not able to sleep?” she asked “Smith.”

He turned his head to look at her. She didn’t especially like the listless expression on his face. “Can’t get comfortable.”

“Are you in pain or is it the fever?”

“I ain’t sure. I just can’t sit still for longer than a couple of minutes.”

Kealy flipped through his chart. “Some of that might be the new medication. It can make you feel a little restless until you get used to it.”

Jones sat up. “What’s that new medicine for, Doc? Todd never did really explain it.”

“I’m checking on a theory,” Dr. Kealy said slowly. How much to actually tell these two? If “Jones” needed medicating as well, could she justify trying to get him to take it? “If you really are delusional, this medicine will help.”

“And if we ain’t?” Those blue eyes had gone icy on her. Kealy was suddenly aware that “Jones” was a big man, even though he hadn’t made a threatening move.

She forced herself to stand still and pretend she wasn’t worried. “Then Mr. Smith might lose a little sleep. The medicine isn’t going to harm him either way. I picked a fairly mild dose.”

“And what are you thinking you’ll see?” “Smith” muttered. “’Coz I don’t really like feeling like this.”

“I’m thinking you might stop believing you’re from 1886 and tell us your real names.”

“I already told you that.”

“Jones” crossed his arms. “Seems to me that Heyes ain’t got to take no medication he don’t want to.”

“’S OK, Kid,” his friend said. “It ain’t going to hurt me, she said. I’ll try it out for a day or so until she believes us.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Kealy said sincerely. “I’m trying to help you. I’m sure you don’t want to be transferred to the psychiatric unit.”

“Not if that Dr. Owens is in charge. He looks like he was weaned on a pickle.”

She had to laugh. “He is a bit sour. Just let Todd know if you have any unusual side effects – trouble swallowing, muscle spasms or tremors. We’ll discontinue if those occur.

She turned for the door. “And try to drink more. I don’t like your kidney output and more fluids will help flush your infection out as well.”

“I’ll let you know if I quit thinking I’m who I know I am, Doc.” “Smith” said softly, his cheek dimpled.


	11. Fever Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Heyes is dry-gulched on the way back from a poker game. He and The Kid stumble through a time portal and wind up in the modern era -- just in time to step onto a busy street.
> 
> Warning: This work contains graphic depictions of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you.

Heyes shifted position again. He was trying to be quiet, but the Kid lifted his head anyway. 

“You still antsy?” He asked. “Want me to see if Todd would give you a shave? Or another bath?”

Heyes tried to speak normally, but those damn broken ribs made him speak in panting bursts. “Kid, it ain’t no fun having another man give you a bath. Let’s table that idea. I’ll be OK once I get used to this medicine. Dr. Kealy said so, right?”

The Kid smiled. “Maybe get that cute Abby to give you a bath later.”

Heyes made sure to smile in return. He didn’t want the Kid worrying about how bad he was actually feeling. He could tell his fever was still high. He ached all over, for one thing. Heyes lay back against the soft pillow. Maybe he could doze off for a few minutes. He closed his eyes. Something grew very small and then very large again. He was really thirsty, but he didn’t have the energy to reach for the can of Coke still on the table.

How was he going to convince that doctor that they’d actually traveled here from the past? The trouble was, short of finding that doorway and going back through it, he didn’t see any way he could prove anything. He sure didn’t want to end up in the psychiatric ward — that sounded too much like an asylum.

He really wanted that Coke. Maybe he’d ask the Kid to pass it to him. Maybe he could hold it without help. This was really getting old very quickly. He had about as much strength as a newborn kitten. He shifted again. He wasn’t hurting any more than usual, but he just couldn’t find a comfortable position. He was feeling antsy, as Jed put it.

“Kid,” he tried, hating the weak sound of his voice, “could I have some Coke?”

“Sure you can.” The Kid passed over the can. When Heyes nearly dropped it, Jed held it up to his mouth for him to drink. 

Heyes could see the worry in his friend’s eyes. That was nothing new — the Kid was a worrier. But Heyes hated giving him anything real to worry over. He was a little worried himself, if he were to admit the truth. He’d heard Todd say pneumonia. That was serious. He didn’t know what that antibiotic might be, but he hoped Todd was right and it would cure him.

And quickly. He was tired of lying here, and it had only been two days. Or he thought it was two. Time was a little fuzzy since he’d been shot. 

Heyes gave up on the idea of sleep for the moment. “Kid, would it bother you too much if I tried to read?”

The Kid poked the button that turned on the light over his bed. Heyes was going to miss the lighting when they got back to the past. That and the Cokes. He wondered what was in a Coke and how hard it was to make one. It had soda water in it, that much was plain, but what made that intriguing bite at the back of his throat? Maybe he could duplicate the recipe somehow — he’d make a fortune, that was certain.

Heyes pulled out his book. These were also an improvement on the heavy tomes of the past. They were much smaller for one, and the covers were soft flexible paper. This one was only a little bit larger than a deck of cards. The stories were good — all about a “consulting detective” that solved crimes. Heyes wondered what Sherlock Holmes would have done with one of his and the Kid’s robberies. Would he have been able to track them down the way their own lawmen had never been able to do?

He was having trouble concentrating on the book, though. Usually, when Heyes read, he could immerse himself in the story and lose track of where he was and what time it was. Now, he kept having to move around, trying to find the perfect position. And when he did get comfortable for a moment, his eyelids would start drooping and he’d find himself nodding — only to jerk awake and have to move again. 

If this was the new medicine, he could certainly do without it. But he’d told Dr. Kealy he’d give it a good try. It wasn’t going to do anything anyway, or not what the good doctor thought it’d do. Heyes figured it was some sort of medicine that made crazy people stop hearing voices and stuff. That’d be something if they had it back in the past. He’d seen a few people wandering the streets that could have used it.

Heyes set the book down for a moment and tried to think. It would probably help if he could just get out of bed and walk around for a bit. He wondered if they’d unhook all these tubes and let him do that if he asked. He knew one tube he could certainly do without — and the one poking into his hand wouldn’t be much of a loss, even if it was supposedly putting medicine straight into his veins.

He poked the painted button on the bed rail. “Could I ask you something?” He told the railing when Todd’s voice came out of it.

The man appeared in the doorway within minutes. “Are you still feeling rough, Mr. Smith?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking I might feel better if I could get out of bed. How do we make that work?”

Todd studied him for a moment. “I’d have to ask Dr. Kealy, of course. I think it’d be OK with her. You’d have to keep the IV and the chest tube in, though.”

“How in — sorry, I mean how am I supposed to get out of bed with tubes hanging out of me?”

Todd smiled. “The chest tube collection box is portable, and the IV comes with a portable holder. You just roll it along with you when you walk around.”

Heyes thought about it. “Better than lying here trying to get comfortable.”

“I have to say you’re one of the few patients I’ve had who wanted out of bed this badly. Most of the folks up here are barely conscious. You must have a robust constitution.”

Heyes had to smile. “Clean living and fresh air.”

The Kid snorted.

Todd patted Heyes’ good shoulder. He seemed to be one of those fellows who liked touching you to make his point. Heyes remembered that he had a husband — hopefully, the man didn’t automatically assume that he and the Kid were married. Heyes wondered if he should say something along those lines, or if it would be an impolite assumption on his part to even wonder.

“I’ll go page Dr. Kealy,” Todd said. “You’re lucky she’s been on duty most of the time you’ve been here. If this was her off week, she’d be at home resting up instead of just downstairs in the break room.”

Heyes lay back and tried to be patient. He picked up the book again and tried to read. He tried closing his eyes and dozing off. The trouble was, Heyes was not exactly a patient man. Well, not unless it involved casing a bank or planning a train robbery. Then, he could be as patient as he needed to be to get the job right. But lying here waiting to see if the doctor would let him out of bed … 

It seemed like at least an hour or two before Todd came back. Heyes checked the clock: twenty minutes. This fever was messing with his time sense, too.

“Good news,” Todd said with a smile. “Dr. Kealy says if you want to get up that badly, she’s not going to stop you. But I’m to tell you that you do have to keep the chest tube collection box and the IV pole with you at all times. You’re not to try to unhook anything.”

Heyes sighed. There went that plan. “All right, I promise to behave. How does this work?”

Todd flipped back the covers. “You’re probably not going to like this part, but take a deep breath.”

He was right: Heyes didn’t like it one bit, but at least there was one less tube to think about.

Todd showed him how the portable IV pole worked. He picked up the collection box and set it on the bed. “Just remember to keep this below your chest at all times so the tube will keep draining in the right direction. You don’t want this crap going back inside, do you?”

He then pushed something on the outside of the bed and pulled the railing down on Heyes’ left side. The Kid stood, shifting from foot to foot with the desire to help.

“Sit up slowly,” Todd said, putting an arm around Heyes’ shoulder. “Lean on me if you need to.”

Heyes needed to. He felt like that newborn kitten again, but he managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed and sit up fairly normally. With Todd’s and the Kid’s help, he made it to his feet.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he muttered as he swayed on wobbly legs. “I feel like a calf trying to stand up the first time.”

“It’ll get better,” Todd assured him. “Don’t go too far your first time out. And lean on the Kid here when you need to.”

“Yeah,” Jed said, holding onto Heyes’ left arm. “I’ll pull the pole and you tote that box. We’ll go to the elevator and back.”

“Somehow it looks a lot farther away than it did an hour ago.”

They made it to the elevator. Heyes studied the contraption with interest. The Kid said it was just like those rising rooms in the Denver hotels, boxes on wires that lifted you to the top floors and lowered you back again. It looked nothing like them, however. No wire cage, no operator. Just a big silver door in the wall with a couple of those futuristic buttons next to it. The Kid explained that you pushed the button and the elevator knew you wanted it to stop and pick you up.

Todd walked along with them as far as the nurse’s station, then sat and watched from behind the desk. He was keeping an eye on Heyes’ progress without hovering, which Heyes appreciated. He’d rather the Kid didn’t hover, but he actually did need Jed’s support to get to the elevator and back. Being sick really stank.

They returned to the room and Heyes needed the Kid’s help again to get all of the accouterments positioned so he could get back into bed.

“I hate to admit it,” he said, out of breath from just that short walk, “but I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll bet,” the Kid replied, dropping back into the chair. “If we were back home, you’d still be flat on your back trying to breathe.”

“Hell, if we were back home I’d probably be six feet under and you know it, Kid.”

“I don’t want to talk like that, Heyes.”

“Sorry, Kid. I’m just trying to be honest. I’m just tired, though, not in agony or anything.”

“That’s real good. You still look flushed though. I don’t think your fever’s gone down much.”

“Doesn’t feel like it has. I think we need some more of these cold things, too. These are feeling kind of warm to me.”

As if his words had summoned him, Todd appeared again. “Figured you’d need fresh packs.”

Heyes had to ask. “Are you listening to everything we say?”

Todd laughed. “No, we can’t hear you from out there unless you talk really loudly. I just figured it’d been long enough for these to get warm on you. Let’s pull up the sheets and pack these around you again. We need to get your temperature down, especially around your vital organs.”

“All my organs are vital.”

Another laugh. “Yes, but your kidneys and liver are especially vulnerable to excessive heat. That’s why the packs are around your torso instead of down your legs or under your arms. And this one behind your neck helps keep your brain cool.”

The Kid chuckled. “I always said you were hot-headed.”

“Very funny. Remind me of that next time you’re about to lose your temper.”

Todd took the warm-cold packs back to the station and Heyes tried to read his book again. Sherlock Holmes was investigating a mysterious hound in the English countryside. Heyes had never been to England, but he figured it was a lot like America — well, probably more like Back East. They didn’t have anything like the desert over there.

Heyes read for a few minutes, then swung his legs over the side of the bed again.

“You’re back up already?” The Kid shot him a worried glance.

“Can’t sit still, remember? This is why I wanted them to take these tubes out.”

“If you’re determined to get up, let me help.”

“Want to carry the box this time? I can hold onto the pole for support.”

They tried it that way, and Heyes made it one full circuit of the “ICU” ward. He’d asked Etta what the name of the ward meant, and she’d said it was Intensive Care Unit. That let Jed’s idea right out, but “I See You” did make sense, as the rooms all faced the nurse’s station.

Of course, his walk was nothing like a normal stroll. He walked like a stove-up old cowboy pushing 80, holding onto the IV pole and barely managing to shuffle along. It took practically ten minutes to walk the entire loop and return to Room 3. 

As he passed, he glanced into the other rooms. Todd was right — those folks looked like they were nowhere near ready to get out of bed. Some of them were older than dirt. Of course, folks in the future probably lived a lot longer than they had in the 1800’s. A couple of the other patients looked about his and the Kid’s age and a couple somewhere in the middle. There were men and women both, which ought not to surprise him considering how women dressed in the future. They probably had won the right to vote by now, too.

Back in Room 3, Heyes finally felt sleepy enough to lie back down and close his eyes. “Get some sleep, Kid” he muttered.

“Until Todd comes in to check your blood pressure,” Jed muttered back.


	12. The Agent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Heyes is dry-gulched on the way back from a poker game. He and The Kid stumble through a time portal and wind up in the modern era -- just in time to step onto a busy street.
> 
> Warning: This work contains graphic depictions of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you

The Kid started awake. Heyes wanted out of bed again. Jed was actually relieved to see him up and about, even though the constant in and out kept Jed up. At least he wasn’t just lying there any longer, staring listlessly at the ceiling.

They did another round of the floor. Heyes was doing better after practicing most of the night. He could get around the whole unit without stopping now, even though he still hung onto the pole for support. Jed carried the collection box, making sure to keep it low so it drained properly.

The night shift nurses clocked out. The Kid headed for the cafeteria while they changed shifts. When he got back (with a cup of stronger coffee for Heyes), Etta was checking Heyes’ vitals — or trying to.

“You out of bed already?” Etta asked. She flipped through Heyes’ chart as he got back under the covers. “I should have figured you’d be a bad patient. Don’t you know when to take it easy?”

“I took it easy for two days.”

“It doesn’t count if you were unconscious half of that first day.”

Heyes shrugged. “I was lying down, wasn’t I?”

“Just keep those cold packs around you until that fever goes back down.”

Heyes pulled the sheets up and repositioned the packs. He took a sip of the coffee — something called “Starbucks” — and smiled. “I feel better already.”

“Your temperature is still 102. You’re not out of the woods yet, so don’t go getting cocky.”

Jed set his coffee down on the table. “I’ll make sure he don’t get cocky, Miss Etta.”

“He ought not be out of bed this soon. I’m surprised at Dr. Kealy.”

Jed managed to meet her gaze for a moment. Seems Miss Etta shared his view on that subject. “I reckon she figured he was gonna figure out a way to do it whether she said he could or not.”

“Mr. Smith, you’re a horrible patient. I just hope you don’t regret it.”

She left them alone then. Jed spent the day alternating between dozing in the chair and helping Heyes walk around the unit. Etta said he could bring Heyes back something from the cafeteria, so he brought up one of the tasty “burger” sandwiches they made to order. 

“This is pretty good,” Heyes had to admit. “Why doesn’t the hospital get their food from that café?”

The kid shrugged. “I reckon they have to make sure the sick folks get special extra-healthy food. At least it’s filling.”

“Bland is what it is. But this sandwich is OK. Is this tomato ketchup?”  
“I got you some mustard too, in case you didn’t like it on your sandwich.”

“How do you get the ketchup out of this package?”

Jed showed him how to tear open the end, not mentioning his disastrous first attempt at the same. He’d finally watched others in the café to see how they dealt with the odd little packages.

Etta came in for the after-lunch vital readings. Just as she was checking what she called his blood pressure, a knock sounded at the doorway.

“Can he have visitors?”

The Kid studied the man at the door. Shorter than Jed by a good five inches. Dressed in an expensive-looking suit. He had a notebook just like all of the other official visitors.

“Not supposed to,” Etta said testily, “but with all the traffic in and out of this room since he got here, what’s one more?”

“I’m from social services.”

Etta sniffed. “‘Bout time you lot figured it out. We need to make sure he’s got a clean place to heal up. Not that rat-trap Arms Hotel.”

The man smiled. “I think I can guarantee something will be done about that.

He stepped into the room. “Call me Sam,” he said, holding out a hand.

Heyes and the Kid shook. Etta finished her measurements and returned to the station, not without a parting glare at the visitor.

“Don’t tire him out, Sam.”

As soon as she was outside, Sam leaned in close to Heyes and spoke softly. “I’m afraid I lied to the nurse. I’m not with anybody she’d recognize. But I am here to make sure you get home safely.”

Heyes shot the Kid a skeptical glance. “And how do you propose doing that exactly? We’re not from Blue River.”

“I know. You’re not from 2018, either.”

Heyes sat up straight, his expression wary. “What are you talking about?”

“Just what I said. Let me explain and you’ll understand everything.”

Sam took a seat on the edge of the bed. He glanced at the doorway to be sure they were still alone. “I’m part of an undercover organization. We’ve discovered time travel. Unfortunately, so has another group in China. They’re using their knowledge to attempt to go back in time and change American history so that their country ends up ruling the world.”

The Kid snorted. “So you go back in time?”

“Not so loud. That nurse would have all three of us in the psych ward.” Sam glanced at the door again. “But yes, we do. However, something went wrong this time.”

“You don’t say.” Heyes crossed his arms and leaned back against the pillows.

“I do. I can’t tell you what’s in store for you, but you’re going to do something that makes a big impact on the country’s history. That’s why the Chinese sent that assassin back to murder you both.”

Jed frowned. “But he only shot Heyes.”

Sam smiled. “I figured you could take care of him. Our own operative wasn’t so lucky. He was supposed to bring you both here to the hospital, so we could save your lives and return you to your own time. The assassin must have gotten him, because he never came back.”

Heyes raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying you meant for us to be here in 2018? It’s not some freak accident?”

“Not at all. The only problem was that you stumbled through the portal unaccompanied. Dave was supposed to pull you through to his … well, horseless carriage. We had a surgical team waiting at our headquarters.”

The Kid traded another glance with his partner. “But Heyes is gonna be OK now. He did have surgery but they say he’ll be fine.”

Sam nodded. “And I’m sure he will be. I looked up your surgeon and she’s supposed to be the best in the area. It’s just that now you’re in the system, so to speak. We’re going to have to figure out a way to get you both back to your own time without affecting things here.”

Heyes frowned. “What do you mean about the system?”

“The hospital staff thinks you’re from this time, of course. They’ve given you identities — probably think you’re both some sort of drug addicts if you told them where you were staying. The Blue River Arms isn’t a nice hotel in our time.”

“They think Heyes is crazy. The doc even gave him some medicine for it.”

Sam put his face in his palm. “I was afraid of something like that. You don’t know things that an ordinary person would know. You have no identification cards, no insurance, no modern money.”

“And funny clothes,” Heyes muttered.

“Exactly.” Sam shoved out off the bed to pace the room. “There’s got to be some way for us to get you out of the hospital without anyone thinking there’s anything funny going on. That’s why I picked social services — they’d be called in if you were really poverty-stricken or homeless.”

“I reckon we are.” The Kid frowned at their visitor. “Our money’s no good and we can’t stay at the Arms if it’s that bad.”

“There’s one thing I can do.” Sam pulled a wallet out of a pocket in his trousers. Jed thought it was a funny place to keep your money. Anybody could just walk by and pluck the wallet out. Sam peeled off a sizable wad of cash. “I don’t have enough to pay your bills, but we’ll handle that for you as well. This is so you can buy some more clothes — and food while you’re here. I know the cafeteria isn’t cheap.”

“It’s near ten dollars for a meal. I been selling some of our old money to the nurses for modern cash.”

Heyes looked at the Kid with admiration. “That’s using your old noggin. Why didn’t you tell me the food was that much? You don’t have to eat at the hospital, you know.”

“Actually,” Sam said, “that’s the best thing for him to do. The fewer people who actually interact with you, the better. Less of a chance for someone to figure out what’s really going on.”

Jed didn’t mention that Dr. Kealy already knew, and Heyes wasn’t the sort who’d admit to anything on general principle.


	13. Plans and Machinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Heyes is dry-gulched on the way back from a poker game. He and The Kid stumble through a time portal and wind up in the modern era -- just in time to step onto a busy street.
> 
> Warning: This work contains graphic depictions of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you

Chapter 15

Sam Wilson studied the two before him. It had taken a full day to verify that Heyes and Curry were at Blue River General. They’d had to hack into the hospital computer system to do it. Then, they’d spent nearly half of another day debating how to handle this fiasco.

Of course, if the two hadn’t stumbled into the portal, Heyes, at least, would be dead and Governor Warren would probably still be assassinated. Heyes seemed to be the brains of the outfit, even though Curry was proving quite resourceful.

Sam had begged for this mission after Dave had turned up missing. Sam’s fascination with the Old West had finally convinced his superiors that he was the right man for the job. They’d set up that phony Social Services identity in a hurry, and he’d gotten to the hospital as quickly as he could.

Sam still wasn’t certain Heyes was going to survive. He’d glanced at the charts, being careful that the nurses didn’t spot him. Pneumonia on top of a collapsed lung. They did have him on what had to be powerful antibiotics, but would he respond in time? He looked feverish just sitting there, and they had ice packs in bed with him.

Heyes was the smaller of the two: wiry and dark. Curry was tall and muscular. Sam would give his eye teeth to see Kid Curry in action, but there was little chance of that with neither of them carrying their big Colt pistols. The hospital report said that Heyes had been carrying a derringer in his jacket, so perhaps Curry had one as well. If so, the man had enough sense not to advertise the fact.

They’d had no trouble believing his story, even if he had fudged the details a bit. Nobody outside of the organization could know the truth about it — that they spent their time trying to mess up the Chinese and Russian time streams, along with trying to fix whatever those agents messed up on the American stream.

If only that damn assassin hadn’t gotten Dave. Sam wasn’t as good as Dave at thinking on the fly. He’d have to come up with some way to get these two out of the hospital without attracting undue notice. He wasn’t certain that Social Services was the best disguise, but it was the best they could come up with on such short notice. At least, he had a (supposedly) legitimate reason for talking to the men.

“What do we have to do to get home?” Heyes asked quietly. He spoke in an odd, almost panting voice that Sam could only believe was the result of his injuries.

Sam perched on the edge of the bed again. No sense letting the nursing staff see how nervous he actually was. “We get you back to the Arms and activate the portal. That way, you’re already at your hotel. We can also return you to just a few minutes after the actual shooting so nobody even realizes you’ve been missing.”

“That’ll be handy. What if somebody spots that portal thing?”

“It doesn’t look like much. Just a rainbow effect around the edges.”

“I got dizzy when we went through it.” Heyes glanced at his partner, who nodded.

“It does effect most people that way. Our organization picks its agents from among those who can cross through a portal without any ill effects.”

“I reckon we wouldn’t be good agents, then.” Heyes’ cheek dimpled. “But I reckon you only pick folks from 2018 so they know the machinery you’re using.”

“On the contrary. We’ve several agents from along the time stream. People who wouldn’t be missed, you might say, or who history reports vanished mysteriously. One of our best agents is a lady pilot from the 1900’s.”

“A ship’s pilot?”

Sam winced. He hadn’t quite realized how hard it’d be not to give away details of the future to these two. Heyes seemed to pick up every nuance of his conversation. “Actually, I’d better not say any more about her. It might change things if you know too much about our time.”

Curry spoke up. “Must be one of them flying machines then. I heard Todd say he and his husband were flying home to visit Todd’s parents for their anniversary. I didn’t think he was talking about a balloon since he said it was only a three hour flight to the coast.”

Sam repressed a groan. These two were going to be trouble. The problem was, he couldn’t keep everybody from talking around them, and if they were this sharp, they’d pick up a lot of information on their own, even without anyone actively explaining 2018 to them.

Heyes raised an eyebrow. “They have flying machines and you didn’t tell me? Wonder if we could fit one of those in before we go back home.”

“Absolutely not.” Sam glanced at the doorway to be sure the nurses hadn’t heard his outburst. “First of all, you’re not well enough to fly. You’ve had a collapsed lung. The pressure differences might make it collapse again. And second, there’s no way the organization is going to pay you two to play around.”

Heyes crossed his arms and sulked. “I was just asking.”

Sam leaned close. “I’m not sure you realize how badly you were injured. The reason we brought you here is that nobody in your time could have saved your life.”

“And you need me alive to do something, is that it?”

“Basically. Though I can’t tell you what that may be.” Sam shifted position so he could see both men. “And we need to get back on topic. We have to come up with some way for me to get you out of here once Heyes is well enough to go home.”

Heyes raised a hand as if shooing the idea away. “Nothing to it. You’re some sort of government official, right? You can either arrest us and take us away, or you can locate suitable housing somewhere and have us transported there.”

Sam could only stare. Why hadn’t he thought of that. “I can’t have you arrested. It would create too much paperwork that we’d have to destroy. But I can say we’ve found you a place to live. There are government subsidized housing units in Denver. The hospital should buy it if I said we were moving you there.”

Sam glanced at Curry, who had a proud expression on his face. Heyes just looked pensive.

“What if you found us jobs while you were at it? Would that make it more believable?”

“I think it would. I can tell them we’re going to move you as soon as possible.” He sighed. “I wish I could come back and just chat with you two.”

“Why can’t you?” Curry wanted to know. “If you’re supposed to be finding us a place to stay, why couldn’t you keep coming back with possibilities for us?”

Sam could only stare. Why couldn’t he? “I’d really love to talk about the 1880’s with you two. It’s sort of a hobby of mine.”

“What?” Heyes wanted to know. “Ancient history? Or just the Wild West?”

Sam felt his face flushing. “I guess it’s the Wild West. I always wanted to be a cowboy or a gunslinger.”

“You wouldn’t if you’d ever done any of them things.” Curry looked pensive now. “Cowboy-ing is just plain hard, dangerous work. And if you’re a gunslinger, there’s always somebody out there faster than you — and you’re always hoping you don’t run into him.”

The nurse stuck her head into the room. “Are you about done Mr. Social Services? Because Mr. Smith needs to take his medicine and get some rest.”

Sam gathered his notebook and hurried out. “I may have found a place for them to live,” he told the nurse. “I just need to coordinate things. Is it all right if I visit again to finalize everything?”

“Suit yourself. Just don’t tire him out. He’s a lot sicker than he thinks he is.”


	14. A Pensive Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Heyes is dry-gulched on the way back from a poker game. He and The Kid stumble through a time portal and wind up in the modern era -- just in time to step onto a busy street.
> 
> Warning: This work contains graphic depictions of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you

The Kid peeled the thin transparent sheet from his clothing. They’d been delivered from the “dry cleaners” and he’d paid Etta forty dollars since she’d paid the nurse who’d sent them off in the first place. It was good to have his suit back. He’d been worried someone would see his derringer in the pocket of that odd uniform.

Derringer safely stowed in its custom pocket, Jed ruefully fingered the holes in the cloth. The problem with a hidden derringer was that when you used it, the suit was pretty much ruined.

“Don’t you look fine?” Etta asked as he exited the bathroom. “Why haven’t I ever seen any of you cosplayers around the city before?”

“We’re not actually from Blue River,” Jed answered honestly. “We move around a lot.”

“I’ll bet your friend’s outfit was just as nice as yours is. Too bad it got ruined.”

The Kid shrugged and handed her his uniform. “I’d rather lose a suit than a partner. Too hard to train a new one.”

“And now your sense of humor is back. You must not be as worried about him today.”

Actually, he wasn’t. Heyes didn’t seem quite as listless this morning. He’d eaten most of his breakfast instead of toying with it the way he’d been doing with the rest of the hospital meals. Jed had gone downstairs for more of the expensive “Starbucks” coffee, and Etta had waved his suit at him once he’d returned.

Heyes glanced up as the Kid entered the room. “You look a hell of a lot better. That funny outfit you’ve been wearing is the wrong color for you.”

“It was comfortable. Too thin though. I’d never wear it out in public.”

“I might be doing just that if we can’t find a tailor before we leave.”

“I think they saved your trousers and boots.” Jed dropped into the chair and picked up the “Harry Potter” book again. “We just need to get you a shirt and undershirt. Maybe a suit jacket if we can find one to match.”

“I’ll bet they don’t make derby hats in 2018.” Heyes’ cheek dimpled. “Probably think you got yours from a museum.”

Jed opened the book, then closed it again. “What did you think about that time policeman?”

Heyes shoved himself to a seated position. “If he’s real, it’s our only way back. And I can’t imagine him not being real. He knew too much.”

“That’s what bothers me. All that stuff about us changing history. It just worries me.”

“Everything worries you, Kid. You’re a natural worrier. That’s why I keep you around.”

Jed had to smile. When Abby came in to do her measurements, Jed asked what all of the numbers were today.

“We’re doing better,” she replied. “Fever is down to 101.5. Oxygen levels are up a bit. Blood pressure is almost down to normal. The chest tube looks like it’s draining well. I’d say Mr. Smith might have turned the corner.”

That was hopeful news, though Jed didn’t understand all of it.

Abby put her hands on her hips, looking like a miniature Etta. “Are you doing your breathing exercises? And drinking lots of liquid?”

Heyes held up his coffee cup with a smile. “I just don’t see no need of coughing every few minutes. It just makes my chest hurt worse.”

“That’s part of the reason you have pneumonia. If you’d been doing your exercises, maybe that infection wouldn’t have been able to take hold.”

The Kid sat up straight. “Honest? Coughing and breathing deep would help him get over it?”

“Well, now it’s going to be more up to the antibiotics, but yes, the exercises help to strengthen his lungs. Coughing will get rid of some of that phlegm inside of them.”

Jed shoved out of his seat and leaned over his partner. “You hear that? You’re gonna be doing them exercises now, for sure.”

“Yes, mother.”

“I ain’t kidding. If I’d known to make you do ‘em before, maybe you might not have caught pneumonia at all.”

Abby put a hand on Jed’s arm. “It’s hardly your fault. Mr. Smith could have done the breathing exercises if he’d wanted to.”

“I should have made him do ‘em. He don’t know what’s good for him sometimes.” Jed hauled the little transparent box over to the table and set it in plain sight. “How often does he got to do this thing?”

“Ideally, every hour. More if you think of it.”

“Every half hour it is.” Jed shot his partner a glare. “I got a pocket watch and I’m gonna be timing it.”

Heyes complained the first few times, saying the deep breathing made him cough and coughing hurt too much. But as Jed insisted, he got to the point where he reached for the box without too much prompting. The idea was that if you breathed in and out of the box, some brightly colored little balls inside of it moved up and down. Heyes was supposed to keep them up in the air for as long as he could. At first, they barely moved, but as he worked at it, he started getting interested in keeping them up. Just as Jed had figured, once he saw the challenge in the thing, he wanted to beat his own time.

Dr. Kealy showed up again around lunch time. “Sorry I’m running so late,” she said, flipping through the chart at the foot of Heyes’ bed. “We had a staff meeting that ran over, and I’ve been trying to catch up ever since.”

“When was the last time you had an X-ray?” She asked. “I’d like to make sure that lung is inflated properly.”

“They done one of them yesterday,” Jed told her. “For the pneumonia.”

“I’ll go take a look at that again. You seem to be doing better. Still in the Victorian era?”

“If you mean did we come from 1886,” Heyes replied, “then yes, we are.”

Dr. Kealy said nothing, but she looked a little disappointed. “So tell me something I’d never be able to look up about 1886 then.”

Heyes chuckled. “How in thunder action am I supposed to do that? For all we know, you can look up what the Kid and I ate for dinner the night I got shot.”

“All right, let me ask you something then. What was Blue River like in 1886?”

Heyes leaned back against the pillows and got comfortable. “Like I said, a nice little town. Nowhere the size of Denver, of course, but a good place to live if you’re a peaceable sort. The Arms was around the corner from the best saloon, The Silver Streak.”

“On Broad Street,” Jed put in. “I remember we ducked down an alley once you got shot.”

“Right. I don’t think the alley had a name though — or not one I ever heard. The hotel has three whole floors — pretty modern for a little town — and it’s between the hardware store and the doctor’s office.”

“That’s where I was headed when we found that time door thing,” added the Kid.

Heyes snorted. “He’d probably just have given me some laudanum and waited for me to bleed to death. Or die from infection.”

“Don’t talk like that, Heyes.”

“It’s true and Dr. Kealy probably already knows it.”

Dr. Kealy shrugged. “It is true that they didn’t have effective antibiotics until around 1920. And I doubt your doctor would have understood about germs and how they cause infection.”

“What’s germs?” Heyes had that curious expression on his face, the one he got whenever he had the chance to learn anything new. That expression had been missing for the last three days and Jed had been starting to wonder if he’d ever see it again.  
Dr. Kealy‘ s brows rose. “I guess I’ll play along. They’re what cause infection. You can’t see them but they live just about everywhere. And if you get the ones that live outside of your body on the inside of your body, they make you very sick. That’s why we’re so careful to keep everything clean in a hospital.”

“So dirt’s got germs in it.” Heyes narrowed his eyes the way he did when he was thinking hard.

“Dirt and just about everything else. You’ve even got germs in your mouth. If you bit me, I’d have to take antibiotics to cure the infection.”

“Good think I don’t bite.” Heyes’ cheek dimpled. “And good thing the Kid and I take regular baths.”

“We’ll be giving you some antibiotic pills to take home with you when you’re discharged. That way, you don’t have to worry about germs in your chest.”

“I’m obliged to you. What else do you want to know about Blue River back in our time?”

“Tell me some names. Maybe I can look them up online.”

“One thing’s for sure. Slang sure has changed since 1886.” Heyes put a finger to his lips and thought. “The hotel’s run by a fellow named Loftin. Middle aged, skinny as a rail, has a wife and two kids. I think one girl and one boy. The aforementioned doctor’s named Oughton. That’s unusual enough, so you might be able to track him down.”

“There’s Lem Glass out at the Rocking R,” Jed put in. “He’s the owner. I don’t know if we ever caught the last names of any of his hands, but they was playing poker with us. I remember Red and Slim and Tex and Montana Joe.”

“I’m not sure I can look up nicknames,” Dr. Kealy said with a smile. “But I can try to find Lem Glass and Dr. Oughton for sure. Maybe Mr. Loftin. It’s too bad the Arms is so run down. We periodically have campaigns to make it a historic landmark, but it’s been renovated so many times it doesn’t look anything like it must have looked back then.”

She jotted something down in the chart and headed for the nurse’s station. The Kid heard her tell Etta she needed another X-Ray done.

“At least I’ll be more alert for this one,” Heyes muttered. “Might be interesting. I don’t remember them hurting.”

“Didn’t appear to hurt you none. Just made a buzzing noise for a minute.”

“Maybe they’ll let me see it once they’re done.”

“You can always ask. Right now, it’s time for another breathing treatment.”


	15. Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Heyes is dry-gulched on the way back from a poker game. He and The Kid stumble through a time portal and wind up in the modern era -- just in time to step onto a busy street.
> 
> Warning: This work contains graphic depictions of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you

Heyes was starting to believe the Kid. He still felt feverish, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the day before, and he wasn’t nodding off every ten minutes like he had been. Maybe he actually was going to recover from this.

They’d come for that X-Ray thing. It had been a bit anticlimactic. All he’d done was lie still while they positioned a tube over his chest. They did put what they said was a lead apron over his lower half — Heyes hadn’t dared ask what that was for. He was afraid one of the scantily-clad ladies might tell him in no uncertain terms.

Dr. Kealy let Heyes and the Kid look at the result. Looked just like a photographic negative to Heyes. He’d take the doctor’s word that it showed his lung. 

“It’s expanded just fine,” she said, pointing out a whitish line on the negative. “I’m just going to leave that tube in for a day or so to be sure you don’t have any trouble.”

“Is there a chance it might collapse again?” The Kid asked worriedly.

“Once you have one pneumothorax, there’s always the chance you’ll have another, yes. But if I leave the tube in until it heals properly, there’s far less chance of that happening.”

Jed’s blue eyes were wide. “What if it happens and the doctor back then don’t know what to do about it?”

Dr. Kealy put a hand on his shoulder. “In fact, I looked that very information up for you. Doctors were using something similar to this chest tube during the Civil War. It’d be far more primitive than what we used, but it’d probably work. Just in case.”

Heyes studied the doctor covertly. Was she starting to believe them? She didn’t have a mischievous twinkle in her eyes or a sarcastic look on her face. Maybe they’d convinced her.

“I’ll bet you’re going to do some of that Googling on Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry once we’re gone,” he said.

“Already doing it, actually. Is it true that Heyes and Curry never shot anyone? That’s rare in those days.”

“We agreed on that in the beginning. Nobody gets hurt unless they’re trying to hurt us first.”

“But you still think you’re an outlaw? Couldn’t you think of anyone else to identify with?”

Heyes shrugged. “Didn’t actually have a say in the matter. It’s who we are.”

Dr. Kealy shrugged in reply. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain. At least Heyes and Curry seemed to have an honorable streak. Better than Jesse James or Billy the Kid.”

“Well, thank you. I think.”

**

Sam hurried to the elevator. He’d meant to be here before lunch, but that staff meeting had just dragged on. Heyes and Curry should be happy with Sam’s news, though. He’d fought hard enough for his suggestion.

Heyes was dozing as Sam peered in the doorway. Curry was reading a thick paperback. Briefly, Sam wondered just how much future knowledge these two had absorbed, just from being here. He couldn’t worry about that just now, though.

He studied Heyes before he entered. His face wasn’t as flushed as it had been yesterday and it looked as if they’d removed the ice packs from around his torso. Maybe he was almost out of the woods.

As soon as Sam stepped inside the room, Curry glanced up. One hand hovered over his right hip as if he were wearing one of his Colt pistols. Sam felt a thrill run up his spine. This was how a real gunfighter reacted. And if Curry had been armed, would Sam now be facing that pistol?

“How ya doing, Sam?” The Kid now asked quietly.

Sam nodded, trying to be quiet so Heyes wouldn’t wake. It was no use. He didn’t get within two steps of the bed before Heyes’ eyes snapped open. They didn’t look quite as unfocused as they had. Heyes poked a button on the railings and the head of the bed rose so he could sit up.

“Abby showed me how to do that,” he said with a dimpled grin. “I’m gonna miss this bed when we get back.”

“I’ve got some good news on that front.” Sam glanced around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard, then spoke softly. “I’ll be coming with you to make sure you get to your hotel safely. The organization said we could requisition a couple of Colt pistols, too, so long as you let me take those back once we get to the hotel.”

Curry’s expression brightened. “I was a little worried about that,” he said. “All I’ve got is this derringer and it doesn’t pack a whole lot of power.”

“But you took down the Chinese assassin with it. Admirable.”

“The Kid doesn’t miss,” Heyes said. “Probably hit him right in the heart.”

“And the head,” Curry added. “Figured one shot might not take him down.”

Sam could only stare. “I wish I’d been there to see that. I’ve been practicing with the Colt for years but I’m nowhere near good enough.”

“Most folks aren’t,” Heyes said. “The Kid is just naturally talented. I’m nowhere near his skill either.”

“I wish I could take both of you to our headquarters so we could do some target shooting. Or just so you could meet some of my coworkers.”

“Why can’t you?” Curry marked his place in his book and set it aside. “I mean, they all know about time travel, right?”

“They do, but the more you interact with what is your future, the more chance that you might change something when you go back. We need to try to keep you as isolated as we can. That’s why it’s such a big deal that Dave failed in his mission.”

Curry looked pensive. “You think the poor fellow’s really dead? Maybe they just knocked him out and stashed him somewhere.”

“The Chinese aren’t known for their mercy. No, we’re all thinking he’s dead. We had a memorial service yesterday, in fact.”

Heyes suddenly spoke up. “And this place is in Denver, you say?”

Sam glanced around to see one of the nurses entering the room. 

“Time for your medication, Mr. Smith. Is the new schedule working out for you?”

“You mean where we’re doing less morphine and waiting longer? Yeah, it’s fine. Whatever that pill is seems to be doing the trick in between.”

“It’s similar to the morphine. Dr. Kealy will probably send you home with a bottle, then. We usually send a seven to ten day supply of medicine with you when you’re discharged. Or we can give you a prescription if you’d rather use your own pharmacy.”

Heyes gave the woman a smile that had a blush spreading across her cheeks. “We don’t really have one, so sending us with a supply will work out just fine.”

“Mr. Wilson here has arranged payment for your stay, so you don’t need to worry about that, either.”

“Thank you, Abby. I’m very grateful for all the high-quality care I’ve gotten here.”

Her cheeks aflame, the nurse retreated. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ve got quick reflexes. But then, you are Hannibal Heyes. I should have expected as much. I’m glad they’ll be sending you home with a good supply of medication. Just don’t let your local doctor see it.”

“Not to complain, Sam,” Heyes said, fingering the material of his scrub trousers, “but do you think I could find a shirt somewhere before they let me leave? I’d hate to have to go back half naked.”

“That’s one of the other reasons I came over today.” Sam pulled his tape measure from his pocket. “Our costume department said they’d be happy to make you a shirt and even an undershirt if you need one.”

“Mine are in shreds, so that’d be great.”

Sam wrote down all of the measurements that the costume department had told him to take. “If you let me take your old shirt with me, we can match the color better.”

“You’ll have to ask the nurses where my clothes are. I just hope my trousers don’t have blood all over them.”

“We can get ‘em dry cleaned,” Curry said. “Got pretty near everything out of mine.”

Sam groaned. “You should not even know about dry cleaning. I’m afraid both of you are horribly contaminated.”

“I still don’t know what it is, exactly,” Curry said with a grin, “so you don’t need to worry so much.”

“It’s my job to worry. We can’t afford to have history changed.”

Heyes’ cheek dimpled. “We promise not to invent anything.”


	16. Ready to Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Heyes is dry-gulched on the way back from a poker game. He and The Kid stumble through a time portal and wind up in the modern era -- just in time to step onto a busy street.
> 
> Warning: This work contains graphic depictions of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you

“Well, Mr.Smith — or is it Heyes?” Dr. Kealy had a smile on her face. “I’m going to give you the go-ahead. We’ll remove that chest tube this morning and you’re clear to leave in a couple of days if you do all right.”

Heyes tentatively felt of the tube. It still felt like something Dr. Frankenstein would do. “Why don’t I think that’s going to be something I enjoy?”

“It’s not going to be totally comfortable, no, but it’s not going to hurt as bad as it did going in.”

“I don’t even remember that part.”

Dr. Kealy flipped through the chart. “You were in shock when they brought you in. You probably don’t remember much of anything, especially once we sedated you.”

She was right about that: he didn’t remember much after those crazy people in the ambulance machine tied him down to the bed. He did remember them sedating him — he’d been certain he was dying, sinking into that last sleep without even saying goodbye to the Kid. Not a good memory.

“I remember some dude pulling off my boots and trousers,” he muttered. That still brought a blush to his cheeks. 

“Well, yes, but we had to treat you somehow. You wouldn’t want us to cut all of your clothing off.”

“You future folks might not mind being naked, but back in 1886 it was a shameful thing to show anything except your hands and face.”

She patted his (naked) shoulder. “You’ll get over it, I imagine. Did they have psychiatric therapy back then? You could always talk to Sigmund Freud I suppose.”

“Who?”

“Drat, I should have Googled Freud.”

“I’m going to spend a good portion of my remaining years wondering how to Google.”

“You’d need a computer and an internet connection.” Dr. Kealy had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Heyes shrugged. “Whatever those are. I have to admit, it’s been interesting being in 2018 but I’m going to be glad to get back home.”

“So you’ve figured out how to get back. Do you mind telling me?”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to talk about it. There’s some sort of secret agency in charge of that sort of thing.”

“If you weren’t on risperidone, I’d swear you were getting paranoid on me.” Dr. Kealy sighed. “I suppose I can discontinue that anyway. It surely hasn’t made a bit of difference.”

“Except making me antsy.”

Dr. Kealy signaled to Etta. “Let’s get that tube out before we do anything else.”

Heyes definitely had his doubts about this procedure. He didn’t remember them putting the tube in, but surely it was going to hurt like hell coming out. He didn’t like the fact that Dr. Kealy and Etta donned aprons and put on some sort of transparent shields over their faces.

“Mr. Jones, if you’ll just step out for a moment,” Dr. Kealy said. “Maybe you can go get some coffee for Mr. Smith. I know he likes Starbucks.”

Once the Kid was gone, the doctor explained what they were going to do. “You’ll take a deep breath, then close the back of your throat and try to breathe out. That’s going to inflate your lungs so that right lung doesn’t collapse again on us.”

She put some sort of cotton pad underneath his side as she spoke. He wondered if that was to catch the blood.

“Deep breath. Got it.” Heyes tried to control his voice, but it still came out sounding nervous to him.

“Etta will cut the sutures holding your tube in place, then we’ll pull it out. I’ve got some different sutures that I’ll pull on to seal off the site.”

“So you’re going to have to sew me up? That’s never comfortable.”

“No, these are already in place. I put them in when we put in the tube. I’m just going to pull them tight.”

Etta gently peeled away the adhesive strips holding the bandage in place. Heyes got a good look at the tube then — Dr. Frankenstein for certain.

“Let me just get these anchor sutures,” Etta said, snipping a couple of stitches on either side of the tube. “Now, when I say ‘three,’ you suck in that deep breath and try to exhale.”

Heyes took a deep breath. Damn, that felt weird, but it didn’t actually hurt. It did spray some blood and fluid outward. That must be why they had those things over their faces. Dr. Kealy tugged at the wound. That felt weird, too. 

“All closed up,” Dr. Kealy said. Etta quickly put another bandage over the incision and fastened it down with more adhesive strips. 

Dr. Kealy patted Heyes’ shoulder. “Now we’ll give it another couple of days to be sure you’re really ready to leave. I’m going to do another X-Ray in the morning, just to make absolutely certain everything’s all right.”

“We’ll give you some instructions,” Etta added, “and I’ll expect you to follow them like they were handed down by God himself. Unlike the past few days.”

Heyes raised an eyebrow. “If anybody had bothered explaining why they had said rules in the first place, I’d have followed them better.”

Dr. Kealy chuckled. “You haven’t been that bad a patient. At least you’re making an effort, unlike some I’ve had.”

Etta still gave Heyes a glare as she exited the room. She carried out the red bag they’d tossed the dressing and transparent shields into.

“Why is everyone in 2018 so afraid of a little blood?” Heyes had to ask. “Me and the Kid were covered in it, and nothing’s happened to us.”

Dr. Kealy shrugged. “There are lots of diseases you can catch by exposure to blood. We’re just being extra careful, especially since we don’t know for certain whether or not a patient has any of those diseases.”

“I’m hardly ever sick and neither is the Kid.”

“You’re probably fine. It’s just one of those hospital rules we all have to follow.” She nodded to the Kid as he re-entered the room (with two cups of that “Starbucks” coffee). “I’ll see you again in the morning unless you need me before then.”

“No offense, but I hope I don’t see you again today.”

She smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping.”

Heyes sipped his coffee. He was going to miss these “lattes” when he got home. Looked like just coffee and milk, but it had quite a kick to it. Something the Kid said they called “espresso.” Heyes wondered if he could figure out how to make espresso.

**

The Kid studied his partner as he dropped back into his usual seat. Heyes looked so much better than he had when he’d first arrived. His face wasn’t flushed any longer. He wasn’t panting for breath or holding his chest. And he definitely looked better without that tube sticking out of his side. Now the only tube was the one going into his hand. Etta had said they’d remove that one in the morning if Heyes was doing OK.

“How bad was it?” Jed asked, taking a sip of his coffee. “I reckon they was afraid I’d do something if they was hurting you.”

“It wasn’t that bad, really.” Heyes frowned. “Felt really weird, pulling something out of my chest that way, but it barely hurt at all.”

“You look a lot better without it. Think they’ll really let you go home with all them bandages still on?”

“Etta said they’ll send some more bandages and some of this ‘tape’ with me, along with my medicine.”

“That’s right thoughtful of them.”

“I think they figure you and me are too poor to buy our own bandages,” Heyes said. 

“I think Dr. Kealy is pretty close to believing us though.”

“She might be, at that. She did she she’s going to quit giving me that crazy person medicine.”

“That’s great. So you won’t be feeling so weird all the time.” The Kid pulled out his book. Maybe he’d get to finish it before they had to leave. He wanted to find out how this Harry Potter fellow solved the mystery at the magical school. Maybe he’d just take the book along with him ...

Heyes also pulled out a book. He’d finished the “Sherlock Holmes” one and was starting on what was supposed to be another classical mystery. This one was about another detective called “Hercule Poirot.”

“This guy’s weird,” Heyes said when the Kid asked him about it. “Going on about ‘little gray cells’ in the brain and how you can solve anything just by thinking about it. I like Sherlock Holmes better. At least he knows how to track the murderer down.”

“My book’s pretty good. All about learning to do magic and such.” 

Heyes wasn’t as interested in that as the Kid had gotten. “No such thing as magic,” he muttered, returning to his detective story.

The Kid was just happy Heyes felt good enough to read more than just a few pages at a time. He read a lot faster than Jed did, of course, but Jed had worked through almost half of his book before Heyes had managed to finish the Sherlock Holmes stories. It was all that medicine they’d been giving him. Good thing they’d quit giving him that morphine or whatever it had been. That had knocked Heyes out pretty much all day.

What they mostly had him on now was pills with the occasional shot into that IV tube. The night before, Todd had explained that they knew Heyes was about ready to go home because he didn’t need the strongest pain medicine any longer, that he wasn’t always asking for it.

The Kid could have told them Heyes wouldn’t ask anyhow. He didn’t like being sleepy all the time. You couldn’t afford to have a drug habit if you were a famous outlaw, after all. Their lives depended on them being alert and sharp at all times.

If only the Kid had been a little more alert that night, maybe Heyes wouldn’t have gotten shot in the first place. Jed had been admiring a new gun rig in a shop window when he’d heard the shot. If he’d been beside his partner like he should have been, maybe he’d have spotted that Chinese dude before he’d had a chance to shoot.

One thing was certain: the Kid was going to be first out of that time doorway thing when they went back. Sam had promised him a Colt pistol, and with a Colt in his hand, he could take on any gunman that might still be lurking around that alley.


	17. The Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Heyes is dry-gulched on the way back from a poker game. He and The Kid stumble through a time portal and wind up in the modern era -- just in time to step onto a busy street.
> 
> Warning: This work contains graphic depictions of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you

It was time. Dr. Kealy had given Heyes the go-ahead to check out of the hospital this afternoon. They were just waiting for Sam to return.

The Kid checked the clear bag Etta had given them. It contained extra bandages, a roll of that “tape” they fastened with, and several bottles of medicine — one was the antibiotic that made sure Heyes got over that pneumonia, one was pain medicine and one was to be taken along with the pain medicine to keep Heyes from having what Etta said was “bowel problems.” And there was a whole sheaf of instruction papers for Heyes.

They’d stopped giving Heyes that other medicine, the one for crazy people. Heyes hadn’t been as antsy since they’d done that, and had slept most of the past two nights straight through. The Kid had had a harder time of it — every time one of the nurses entered the room, he was wide awake and ready for action.

Now, he was ready to get out of the hospital and get back to where things made more sense. None of this crazy future stuff neither of them understood. The only problem was they’d have to take one more ride in Sam’s “car,” which he’d said was similar to the police machine Jed had already ridden in. That wasn’t going to be fun, especially for Heyes, who’d ridden to the hospital in the closed ambulance machine.

Sam showed up just before lunch time. “Dr. Kealy says I’m cleared to take you guys to your new home in Denver,” he said in a loud voice. He winked at Heyes and the Kid. “How does that new shirt fit, Mr. Smith?”

Heyes grinned back. “Fits perfectly, thanks. And it goes fine with the suit as well.”

Sam lowered his voice. “Everything is ready. As soon as we get into position, the portal will open and we’ll return to 1886, just a few minutes after you left.”

“You’ve got those Colts?” Jed asked. He wasn’t going back through that portal thing without a solid weapon. What if there were more Chinese assassins looking for them?

“We’ll each have a pistol, yes.” Sam set the bag he’d been carrying atop the bed. “I figured it’d be best if you didn’t carry a plastic sack back to 1886. Let’s load everything into this carpet bag instead.”

The Kid transferred Heyes’ belongings from the bag Etta had given them into the carpet bag. Sam assured him that they’d recycle the other bag (whatever that meant). Jed slipped the copy of “Harry Potter” into the bag, along with that “Sherlock Holmes” one that Heyes had enjoyed. Etta probably wouldn’t even remember how many books they’d borrowed, much less notice any were missing.

Sam led the way outside. Jed could tell Heyes was amazed at the machinery, but he was keeping his expression neutral. There was little Heyes hated worse than having somebody read his expression and guess his feelings or thoughts.

They rode the elevator to the first floor and Sam led them across a huge expanse of pavement to his own “car,” a smallish blue thing that did remind Jed of the police machine. Sam tugged on one end, and a small door opened upwards. 

“We can put your bag in the trunk,” he said, showing Heyes the carpeted space below the door. 

Sam then opened more doors on either side of the “car,” these large enough for Heyes and the Kid to climb inside of the machine and take seats. Jed showed Heyes how to fasten the straps across his chest and waist.

“This is so we don’t fly out,” he explained. “You might just want to close your eyes once Sam starts moving.”

Heyes leaned forward to study the machinery in front of Sam. “Do you steer with that wheel, like on a ship?”

Sam explained the basics of the machine — or tried to. “Just pretend it’s running on steam,” he finally said. “A lot of the controls are similar to a railroad engine. This is forward and that’s reverse.”

Heyes sat back, but leaned forward once more as Sam backed the “car” out of its space and pulled out onto the main road.

Jed closed his eyes and held onto the straps.

It didn’t seem to take as long to return as it had to get to the hospital in the first place. Before he knew it, Sam was calling out “We’re here,” and stopping the “car.”

“Can I drive it?” Heyes asked. “Just around the block once?”

The Kid glanced at his partner in horror. “You liked it?”

“I just wish we’d have gone faster. I’ll bet you can really pour on the speed without all those other cars in the way.”

Sam had a worried expression on his face. “You wouldn’t be covered under my insurance if you got into a wreck.”

Heyes glanced around. “What about this big open space near the hotel?”

“The parking lot?” Sam swallowed hard. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to drive around the parking lot.”

“Let me out first,” Jed said firmly.

**

Sam wasn’t sure he liked the grin on Heyes’ face. Actually, he wasn’t sure how Heyes arranged to be driving his car in the first place.

“Just press down slowly on the gas,” he said. “You don’t want to be going too fast and not be able to —-“

Sam had never actually seen rubber burned onto a pavement outside of a movie. Heyes floored the gas pedal. With a loud whoop, he spun the steering wheel in a circle. Sam clung to the door handle.

“Slow down!” He yelped. “You’ll run into something!”

“This is great!” Heyes yelled back, spinning the wheel in the other direction. “When did you say these things get invented?”

Sam winced as they squeaked past the corner of the Blue River Arms. “The Germans have already invented the automobile in your time —“

“Fantastic. I’m going to Germany.”

“But it only goes about 10 miles per hour!” Sam yelled. “And you’re doing 35 in a parking lot.”

Heyes quit spinning the wheel and drove straight across the lot. They passed the Kid, who was wringing his hands and shouting something — most likely “Slow the hell down!”

“I’ve got a great idea,” Heyes yelled. “Let’s take the car back to 1886. You could run over anybody trying to shoot us. And I could practice driving on an open road.”

Sam’s jaw fell open. “We are not taking my car to 1886! And you are most definitely not driving on the street.”

Heyes raised an eyebrow. “There’s nobody coming.”

“No!”

With a melodramatic sigh, Heyes spun the wheel again, towards the middle of the lot. “You worry more than the Kid. There’s nothing to this driving thing.”

“Then let’s see you park properly. We have to get the two of you home, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Heyes pointed the car between two parking lines and stepped on the brake. They screeched to a halt within the lines and Heyes grinned. “I need a car,” he said.

“You can’t have mine. It’s not even paid for yet.”

“Then it’s not really yours, is it?” The look in Heyes’ eyes suddenly reminded Sam that he was dealing with a renowned thief. The dimple in Heyes’ cheek deepened.

Sam tried another tack. “You don’t have any gasoline. It’d run out of fuel in only a day or so and then it’d just be a four thousand pound pile of metal.”

Heyes sighed again. “You can’t fault me for trying. Can you imagine how easy it’d be to get away from a posse in this thing?”

“You can’t change history by taking a modern automobile back to your own time.”

“I’d be happy with the recipe for Coke — or espresso.”

“You can go to Italy for espresso. As for Coke, it was invented in 1886 but it was only sold in Atlanta, Georgia until closer to the turn of the century.”

Heyes’ expression perked up. “You mean I can actually get a Coke if I go to Atlanta? Heck, I might just do that some day.”

Happy that he’d deflected Heyes’ interest in his car, Sam climbed out. Heyes caressed the dashboard and followed.

Kid Curry strode over, his brow furrowed. “Didn’t you hear me say to slow down, Heyes? You could have killed yourself going that fast.”

Heyes shrugged. “We were only doing 35 miles per hour. And it is just a parking lot, not the street.

His eyes narrowed and gleamed. “I’ll bet I could have made 100 if I’d been on the street.”

“Let’s get your bag and the pistols,” Sam said quickly, popping the trunk. He pulled the gun case from the far corner where Heyes’ crazy driving had tossed it.

Fortunately, in this part of town, three men in strange outfits carrying Colt pistols didn’t raise an eyebrow. Sam led the way to the alley between the hotel and what looked like a crack house.

“I’ll let them know we’re ready,” he said, pulling out his cellphone.

Heyes stared at that with nearly as much avarice as he’d looked at the car. “How far away does that thing talk?”

“I can talk to someone on the other side of the world if they have the right kind of phone.”

Heyes’ eyes widened. “I need one of them things, too. Kid, can you imagine not having to send a telegraph to old Lom every time we wonder about the amnesty?”

Sam slid the phone into his pocket and kept his hand over the flap. “It wouldn’t work in 1886. You have to have cellphone towers and wireless hookups and …”

“Just thinking out loud, Sam.” Heyes grinned unrepentantly.

Kid Curry pointed. “I see the time thing. Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Sam called. “Let me go first —“

He was talking to himself. Curry and Heyes had already stepped through. It was like herding cats. Sam hurried forward. There was that instant of disorientation and then he stepped out into 1886.


	18. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Heyes is dry-gulched on the way back from a poker game. He and The Kid stumble through a time portal and wind up in the modern era -- just in time to step onto a busy street.
> 
> Warning: This work contains graphic depictions of a gunshot wound and medical procedure. Please don't read if that sort of thing bothers you

Hannibal Heyes stepped through the rainbow-tinted “doorway” and immediately knew he was home. For one thing, the sidewalk in the alley was plain dirt. He smelled horse and cow and dung and a hint of vomit from behind the saloon. There were no mechanical honks or beeps or wails from the street beyond. He looked up — the stars were in their accustomed positions. Assuming this was the same night they’d left, they’d only been gone a few minutes.

He stayed behind the Kid, clutching the carpet bag in his off hand and his pistol in his right. If there was going to be trouble, Jed would take care of it before Heyes even had a chance to aim, but Heyes was ready if there were more than one assassin.

His chest still ached, but he ignored it and concentrated on spotting Chinese assassins in the darkness behind the hotel. Something moved behind him and he whirled, but it was only Sam coming through.

“See anything?” Sam whispered. His voice cracked. “Damn, but it’s dark here.”

“No darker than usual,” Heyes whispered back. “The Kid’s got front. You and I need to take the back. You go left and I’ll go right. Meet up at the front of the hotel.”

“Don’t shoot ‘less they’re pointing a gun at you,” the Kid whispered over his shoulder.

Heyes stepped to the right, scanning the darkness of the alley. He saw nothing moving, but there was a doorway ahead, at the side of the doctor’s office. Anybody could be camped out there. They wouldn’t be seen until they pulled the trigger.

He ducked over to the office wall, plastering his back against it and sliding over toward the door. He heard nothing. The Kid passed the doorway. The click of a pistol hammer sounded from the left, at the corner of the hotel. 

Heyes whirled, but the Kid was between him and the sound. Jed’s pistol was already aimed and firing. A grunt sounded from the darkness ahead. A shot zinged off the doctor’s office door. The Kid fired again. A body tumbled into the dim light streaming from the hotel’s front window.

“That’s two,” the Kid muttered. “Sam, you got any idea how many might be out here?”

Heyes could hear Sam swallow hard. “I’m afraid not.” His voice wobbled. “We usually send teams of one or two, but I’m not sure how many the Chinese might have sent.”

“That’s just dandy. Stay behind me.” The Kid strode to where the body lay. Without dropping his aim, he kicked it hard. Either the fellow was dead, or he was an expert at playing possum.

Heyes crept up behind the Kid and picked up the pistol that had dropped from the gunman’s hand. It was an old Army model from the 1870s. No wonder it hadn’t killed him immediately. Older pistols just lacked the velocity of a modern gun. Well, modern meaning 1886. For a moment, Heyes wondered if he could have slipped a futuristic pistol past Sam’s notice.

Sam now crowded close to Heyes. “Is that man dead?” He whispered.

“Maybe. Stay behind me.”

“I’ve never actually seen anybody get killed before.” Sam’s voice wobbled again.

Heyes turned his head. Sam’s pistol was visibly wavering. The man was likely to shoot one of them instead of the enemy if he kept that up.

“Don’t tell me,” Heyes whispered. “This is your first real mission, isn’t it?”

“Well —“

“I asked you not to tell me.” Heyes plucked the Colt from Sam’s lax grip. “Why would they send a greenhorn on a mission like this? You could get shot.”

“I begged them to send me. I know more about the Wild West than anybody else in the office.”

“Keep your voice down.” Heyes pocketed Sam’s Colt. “And stay behind me.”

“Both of you keep out of my way,” the Kid whispered sternly. “Heyes you already got shot once. You do it again and I’m likely to bean you myself.”

Heyes crept along after the Kid. He felt a tug at his shirt sleeve and whirled again.

Sam. “We should try to find poor Dave. He’d be nearby.”

The Kid spoke over his shoulder. “We should get Heyes into the hotel room so he don’t get shot again.”

“The hell we should.” Heyes glared at his partner’s back, knowing the Kid could feel it. “We’re going to help Sam find that other agent. Then we’re going to have a beer. Then I’m going to go to the room and lie down.”

They crept through the alley until they reached the front of the hotel.

“Where would that Dave fellow even be?” The Kid asked, glancing left and right across the street. 

Sam tugged at Heyes’ sleeve again. “The newspaper for tomorrow said that two bodies were found near the livery stable. Maybe one of them was him.”

“What about that guy back there?” Heyes yanked his sleeve from Sam’s grip. “He looked pretty dead to me.”

“But that happened after we read the newspaper. This is all new time being laid down.”

The thud of footsteps on the wooden sidewalk alerted them. The Kid held up a cautionary hand and moved out of the way of the sheriff and his deputy.

“We heard shots,” the sheriff said, giving the three of them the eye.

“Fellow tried to bushwhack us,” the Kid replied, pointing his pistol at the ground. “You’ll find him back there beside the hotel.”

“There’s probably another one near the saloon,” Heyes put in. “We think the two of them were together.”

“And what were the three of you doing to get bushwhacked?” The deputy gave them a suspicious glare.

Heyes raised his carpetbag. “Honest, officer, all we did was win the poker game. They must have been sore losers.”

The Kid, without holstering his pistol, took a step toward the livery stable. “We’re going to look for another friend of ours. They might have gotten him before they came for us.”

The sheriff nodded. “Ralph, go along with them. I’ll check out the alley.”

“Be careful,” Heyes said. “We don’t know how many of them there are.”

“Careful is my middle name.” The sheriff drew his pistol and headed down the dark alley.

The Kid led the way to the livery stable, across from the hotel. Ralph, the deputy, drew his weapon and tagged along. As they drew near the stable, Heyes hear muffled thuds from inside. A restless horse kicking the stall? Or something more sinister?

The Kid entered first, of course. Always let the security expert scope out the area. The deputy, not knowing this fact, shoved into the stable after the Kid. If there was another Chinese agent in there, Ralph was going to get shot.

In fact, there were no further gunshots. The Kid stuck his head back out of the livery door, a grin on his face. “I think Sam’s going to be right pleased at what we found.”

Heyes and Sam entered the stable to find Ralph untying a tall, wiry fellow with a thick mustache. The man also had a large knot on his forehead. The deputy removed a handkerchief from the other man’s mouth.

“Dave!” Sam yelled, dashing across the room. “We thought you were dead.”

The other agent tugged the ropes off his legs and rose to wobbly feet. “I would have been as soon as those two finished their mission and didn’t need me any longer.

He glanced at Heyes and Curry and his eyes widened. “Is that ——?”

Sam hurriedly interrupted. “Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones took care of your two assailants. Are you sure there were only two of them?”

Dave continued to stare at Heyes and Curry. “They never indicated that there were others. And the one that hit me over the head was bragging, so he’d have said if they had more help.”

Dave was even taller than the Kid, though thinner. He was dressed like a typical cowboy: wool trousers, a faded work shirt and vest, boots with spurs — and a hat he located in the stall behind him and clapped onto his head. “I reckon I owe you three my life.”

The Kid holstered his Colt. “I reckon we can go get that beer now.”

Over a corner table in the saloon, the Kid voiced a valid concern. “Are we gonna have to be on our toes the rest of our lives? You think they’re gonna send more agents to try and murder us?”

Dave shook his head. “Once we thwart an attempt, the Chinese usually turn to something else. They know we’re going to be watching you two now, and it’s not worth the risk to them.”

Heyes glanced around the room suspiciously. “You got some sort of machine that’s going to be watching our every move?”

Sam sighed. “You two picked up entirely too much knowledge in that hospital. No, we’re not going to bug you. We’ll just read the newspapers and magazines and make sure the two of you fulfill your destiny.”

“Which you ain’t going to tell us about,” Heyes muttered sourly. His chest was starting to ache. And he wasn’t entirely certain he was supposed to be taking these pills with a beer. Maybe he ought to read over those instructions Etta had shoved into his bag.

“We can’t change history.” Sam held out a hand. “And we can’t let you keep those replica Colts either. We’ll walk you two back to your room.”

Heyes and the Kid handed over their pistols.They’d have to get a new derringer in the morning, to replace the one Deputy Burton had confiscated. For now, they should be safe enough in the hotel room. And Kid Curry with a derringer was better than any two men with regular pistols.

Sam and Dave did walk them back and nothing untoward happened. The sheriff was waiting in the hotel lobby. The four of them had to give a statement, but with Dave’s testimony, the sheriff was convinced that it was some sort of plot to dry-gulch the lot of them, for whatever reason. Dave stuck with Heyes’ story of unhappy poker losers and claimed the fellows were originally going to hold him hostage until they got their money back.

“They must have decided it’d be easier just to loot your bodies,” the sheriff said, clapping his hat back onto his head and heading for the door. “You fellows were really lucky you heard them coming.”

Heyes put a hand over the bandage on his right side. They’d been lucky all right. Luckier than a couple of owlhoots ought to have been. Whatever they were supposed to do must be something spectacular.

***

Epilogue:

“My God!” The portly gentleman in the tailored suit put a hand to his face. “Mr. Heyes, if you hadn’t knocked me out of the way, that runaway team would have mowed me down.”

Heyes put out a hand to help the man back to his feet. “Think nothing of it, sir. My partner and I were just in the right place at the right time.”

“Thank God we were all three speaking at the crime symposium.”

Heyes exchanged a glance with the Kid. “It was quite a coincidence, wasn’t it? Are you still thinking of running for a second term of office?”

Grover Cleveland stared at the loaded freight wagon, its horses now stopped by oncoming traffic. The driver had caught up to his team and was leading them back to the loading dock. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I now feel that it’s my destiny to do so.”


End file.
